


ASP:  The Grey Guardian

by Binsfeld



Series: The Mongoose [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Harry Potter Next Generation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 60,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7231693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binsfeld/pseuds/Binsfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Al's second year at Hogwarts, and he's cautiously optimistic. He has friends now, and the bullying fifth House has been abolished. But with pressure to join Quidditch, his rocky almost-friendship with Scorpius, and the strange new inter-House competitions all jostling for his attention, it starts to seem like there's no such thing as a quiet or stress-free year at Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second part of The Mongoose series, so for anyone that hasn't read "The House of Judgement", this won't really make much sense. For those who finished that and are sticking around to give this one a try, thanks! :D This one may be kind of short, too, though hopefully not as short as the first one. I'm... a little impatient to get to the fun stuff in the upcoming years lol  
> Enjoy! <3

 

YEAR 2

THE GREY GUARDIAN

 

 

  

**~*Chapter 1*~**

**Expectations**

 

Felicia burst into Al's compartment twenty minutes after the Hogwarts Express had left King's Cross Station. She was loaded down with a stack of books, two suitcases, and a small cage from which something was screeching in continuous hysterical bursts.

“Al! There you are!”

Rose hastily got up to take one of her bags and help her stow it in the overhead compartment, while Al heaved the second one up above his own seat. “Cripes, Felicia,” he gasped. “What'd you pack, rocks?”

She laughed, looking flushed and happy. Al wasn't surprised; her last few letters of the summer had become increasingly more excited as their second year at Hogwarts approached. “Dad got a raise at work, so Mom went a little nuts for back-to-school shopping, I guess. I brought a few things for you all, too.” She dropped breathlessly into the seat beside Al, beaming across at Rose and Molly.

 _Once again I'm surrounded by girls_ , Al thought with an internal wince. He wondered briefly where Andrew was. James had already claimed a compartment for himself, Roxanne, and Fred. The three were likely already up to some sort of mischief, if not talking themselves hoarse about Quidditch. They were desperate to play again after not being allowed to finish last year's matches.

Molly smiled and nodded politely; she was a year older and barely knew Felicia. Rose was looking pointedly at the shrieking cage Felicia had clasped in her dark hands. “Er, what _is_ that, Felicia? Did you catch a pixie or something?”

“Oh, it's my owl!” She held up the cage proudly. “That's the surprise I wanted to tell you about, Al, that I mentioned in my last letter. Isn't he cute? His name's Nicodemus.”

They all leaned in to get a closer look at the infuriated owl. It was an ash-colored bird, still somewhat young judging by its size, and puffed up with indignation at its rough handling and confining cage.

“It looks more murderous than cute,” Al pointed out.

“Oh, he's just huffy because he got banged about a bit. My hands were full. Did you get one, Al?” Felicia made soothing noises and set the cage on the floor between her feet.

Al grinned and rose to his feet, carefully sliding loose a boxy carrier from the overhead compartment. He settled down and turned the carrier in his lap so that she could see through the bars in the door. “Meet Trinity.”

“Ooo!” Felicia crooned, immediately sticking her fingers through the bars. “What a cutie! You really did get a cat, huh?”

“Dad wanted to get me an owl, but James already has one, so I can always borrow his for letters and stuff.” Al laughed as a throaty and surprisingly loud purr issued from the carrier. “She's pretty friendly, and it'll be nice to have her sleep on the bed with me. I've never had a pet before.”

“Why Trinity?” Felicia asked, scratching the black cat's chin through the bars.

Al shrugged. “I didn't name her. The seller said she came from a small litter, only three kittens, all black. She was the last one born.”

“Better than 'Midnight' or 'Shadow', anyway,” Molly teased.

“Can we let her out?” Felicia asked eagerly.

Al hesitated. He was tempted, but he feared somehow she'd get loose on the train and he'd never find her again.

"She's a wizard's cat, Al," Molly reminded him, sensing his uncertainty. "She's smarter than the average cat, and she knows how to behave herself."

Before Al could answer, the door slid open, and Andrew, the other friend he'd made during his first year, popped his head in, preceded by his beakish nose. He gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Oh, good. Everywhere else is taken except for one with a few scared looking first years. Got room for one more?”

“If we squish together,” Rose started to say, but Molly was already standing up.

“That's all right, I'd better get to the Ravenclaw carriage. Luanne and Bethany will be wondering where I am.” She took her bag and squeezed past Andrew, waving over her shoulder. “See you when we get there!”

“Phew!” Andrew hurled his bag up onto the overhead compartment and threw himself into the seat beside Rose, shoving his hair out of his eyes. Al eyed him enviously. His own mother had insisted on getting her boys' hair cut before school, and his felt a little too short, especially above the ears. Andrew's, in contrast, was just this side of shaggy, but it looked cool.

Belatedly, Andrew noticed the animals, and sat forward quickly. “What! You seriously got 'em? Man, my dad said I'm not getting an owl until I pull my grades up. Lucky!”

“Al got a cat,” Felicia declared, still wiggling her fingers inside the cage. “She's cute!”

“I wanted a bat,” Andrew said, looking bummed. Felicia made a face. “But I guess those aren't approved or whatever.” He looked over at Rose a little curiously. He'd studied with her before, just as Al and Felicia had, but he hadn't seen her much outside of the library. “Aren't you in Ravenclaw?”

She shrugged easily. “I may go back there later. I wanted to hang out with Al for a bit.”

Andrew nodded, already switching topics. “Hey, Al, give any thought to Quidditch?” He leaned his elbows on his knobby knees and leaned forward with an eager grin. “We're second years, now. You can try out.”

Al groaned inwardly. Andrew had brought this up already a few times in his letters, and Al had been evasive. He should've known the other boy wouldn't let it drop. “I don't know. Quidditch is great, but I'm not sure I'd be any good at it. That's James's thing.”

“Oh, come on! You're a Potter! Both your parents were amazing at Quidditch, right? You should totally try out for the Seeker position. I heard last year's isn't going to do it this year because she wants to focus on her NEWTs. Your dad was one of the most famous Seekers in Hogwarts in his day, right? Don't you wanna... I dunno, follow in his footsteps?”

Al felt like sinking into the floor. One of the worst parts of being from a famous family was that everyone had high expectations for him. Not only did he have to live up to his father's name, but he also had to show he was as good as his older brother. One of the only good parts was that most of the awe and expectations had already been laid at James's feet when he'd arrived at Hogwarts. James, however, had loved the attention, and at least he was on the Quidditch team and doing very well in Defense Against the Dark Arts-- only fitting, the Professors said smugly, for the son of Harry Potter.

Harry and Ginny had been careful to raise their children as normally as possible, but they'd known there'd be no protecting them from fame and high standards once they started attending Hogwarts. The students didn't react to the Potter brothers the same way students from almost two decades ago had reacted to Harry, but many of them had heard the stories of Harry Potter, at least. It was the Professors sometimes who were worse, Al reflected. Like Professor Macmillan, the DADA teacher, who'd known Harry during school, and even fought beside him. He had nothing but praise for James, but was always harping on Al to try harder, to be as good as Macmillan was sure he must be. Al had caught several Professors eyeing him thoughtfully during his first year, though he hadn't thought much of it at the time. Now that the other first year students he'd met had possibly gone home and mentioned him, would they be giving him unwanted attention as well? That's what had clearly happened with Andrew. He'd spoken of his friendship with Al to his parents, and they'd talked his ear off during the summer with stories about the famous Harry Potter.

At least Andrew had taken it all mostly in stride, Al thought with a small grin. Andrew had told him about his parents' reaction in a letter, and their reaction to his response-- “Yeah, but Al's a geek” --had earned him a scolding, but Al had found it oddly encouraging. Andrew may now have high hopes for him, but he wouldn't put him on a pedestal like some of James's admirers did. Or at least, he hoped not.

Felicia, at least, was Muggle-born, and her knowledge of his family was spotty at best. She would only know what she'd heard in passing at school. She had no reason to treat him any differently.

“You learned to fly properly the same time I did,” Al reminded him now. “I'm not comfortable enough on a broom to go head-to-head with someone hell-bent on knocking me off mine.” What he didn't say out loud was that he wasn't sure he'd like all the pressure that came with the games. What if he was responsible for losing a match? Quidditch was a big deal at school. His House would be upset with him, his teammates would be disappointed, and James would be hopping mad. Not just for losing, but for making James look bad by simple relation. Roxanne and Fred would definitely make it a point to tease him about it nonstop. He shuddered. Too much depended on the Seeker, and that was definitely not a responsibility he wanted. “Even if I did,” he said when Andrew pulled a long face, “I would probably try for Chaser or Keeper. Being a Keeper sounds less dangerous, at least.” He added hastily when Andrew began to practically bounce in his seat, “But I don't even know if I _want_ to try out. Why don't you do it if you're so keen?”

“Me? Hah!” Andrew sank down lazily into his seat. “Flying's a fun enough way to get around, and Quidditch is great to watch, but I'd rather watch than do, I guess. I just thought... I dunno, that you'd want to carry on the family tradition or whatever. I figured it's in your blood. Your dad played, your mum played... heck, even your uncles played. And now James and your cousins.”

There were those unwanted expectations. Al frowned, fighting back irritation. “I'll think about it,” he said flatly.

There was a tense silence for a few moments, then Rose cleared her throat and tactfully changed the subject. “So, you remember what the Headmaster said last year? About starting some sort of competition to help bring the Houses together?”

She instantly had everyone's attention.

“Yeah, I wonder what it's gonna be.” Felicia finally pulled her fingers away from Trinity's cage and dug guiltily in her pockets for owl snacks. “And how are competitions supposed to help smooth things over? Remember how vicious everyone would get before Quidditch matches?”

Rose shrugged. “It's obvious, isn't it? Whatever this competition is, he'll make us work together to win somehow.”

“Together, like... You mean like work _with_ Slytherin?” Andrew made a retching sound.

“They're not all bad,” Al said, but without much conviction.

“The fact that you and Malfoy can be in the same room and hold a semi-civil conversation doesn't really give me much hope, thanks,” Rose said primly.

Andrew snorted loudly in agreement. “Name one Slytherin besides Malfoy-- who, by the way, is an enormous stuck-up git –that doesn't make you want to hit them in the face.”

Al shrugged uncomfortably. He and Scorpius Malfoy had found an uneasy truce in Potions class and during the uproar of the so-called fifth House's jinxing spree during the previous year. They weren't friends, but the fact that Scorpius was even grudgingly willing to work with him was encouraging. “I don't really talk to other Slytherins.”

“Speaking of which, if I have to sit with Delilah Castor again this year in Potions, I'm going to poison myself,” Felicia said grimly, earning a laugh from the others.

“Assuming she doesn't poison you first,” Al warned. “Don't let her anywhere near your cauldron this year, okay?”

She gulped audibly. “I'll keep that in mind.”

 

~*~

 

They spent the rest of the train ride talking about their summer activities, discussing the mysterious competition the Headmaster had hinted at, and going over the possibilities of their upcoming classes. Almost before they knew it, it was time to pull on their robes and haul their luggage-- grumpy animals and all –out onto the Hogsmeade station.

It was as everyone was jostling for a place in the line for the carriages that Al spotted a familiar thatch of white-blond hair. He reacted almost without thinking, stepping over quickly and raising his voice over the excited babbling of the throng.

"Hey! Scorpius!"

The boy turned to see who'd hailed him, and stiffened slightly in recognition.

He was still small and skinny, with a pinched face and wary pale eyes. He stared at Al blankly, but otherwise didn't respond.

"How was your summer?" Al asked awkwardly.

An older boy stepped forward, in between the two of them. Slytherin. Al glanced around with growing unease. He'd stepped right up to a group of Slytherin students, and none of them looked pleased to see him.

"Get lost," the older boy snapped.

"Hey, isn't that Potter?" one girl said suddenly.

Some of the Slytherins made a threatening move forward, faces dark.

"He wasn't a Judge," Scorpius said, tone flat.

"His brother was," said another girl. Al stared at her unhappily. It was the girl whose arm had been broken during the ill-conceived antics of the House of Judgement in Al's first year. She'd also led that last ambush in the hall that had ended up bringing the fifth House's deeds to light. It seemed she still held a grudge.

Scorpius was already walking towards the nearest carriage, however, so his friends reluctantly followed.

Al let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"You're thick," Andrew growled, startling him. Turning, Al saw that his friends had come up behind him to offer back-up.

"That was close," Felicia said, eyes wide. "Good thing Malfoy spoke up, I suppose."

"Why'd you even talk to him?" Andrew demanded.

Al shook his head, avoiding Rose's concerned look. He felt embarrassed and foolish. He and Scorpius weren't friends, and he should know better than to treat the boy with familiarity-- especially in front of other Slytherins. They'd become very defensive since the Judges had started so blatantly targeting them last year. In their minds, any Gryffindor trying to get near one of theirs was highly suspicious. Especially when his own brother and cousins had been behind some of the jinxing.

But while Scorpius hadn't been very friendly, at least he hadn't egged on his classmates, Al reflected, trailing after the others as Rose pointed out an empty carriage. Scorpius could be cold and unapproachable, but at least he wasn't the bully his father had been.

And anyway, things were sure to be better this year, he told himself firmly. The idiotic fifth House was done with. And after the severe punishments that had rained down at the end of it all, jinxing in general would hopefully become a rarity. At least on school grounds.

He couldn't help but feel a little bit bigger and more optimistic as he settled into a seat beside Andrew, throwing a look towards the frightened gaggle of first years following Hagrid towards the boats. He wasn't a little first year any more. No longer one of the new kids. And while he hadn't done that great in all his classes last year, he was looking forward to Charms. It was the one class he'd excelled at. Heck, maybe he _would_ think about trying out for Quidditch this year. Just to try it out. Surely being a Keeper couldn't be that hard. And it was nice to ride up to the castle knowing he already had a small group of secure friends.

He joined in on the excited conversation, feeling that surely this year had to be less perilous than the last.

 


	2. The I.H.C.E.

**~*Chapter 2*~**

**The I.H.C.E.**

 

"Wow, Molly was right," Felicia marveled as she reached out to scratch under Trinity's chin. "She's behaving so well."

Al felt a grin tug at his mouth. When he'd seen a few other students file into the hall with rats and cats, he'd decided to risk letting Trinity sit with him. He felt bad he'd had to confine her so long, and anyway, at least if she panicked and got loose during dinner, there would be plenty of people there to help catch her again.

But she'd perched herself quite calmly on his lap and remained still and silent while the trembling first years were Sorted. As Felicia cooed over her now, she arched her head back appreciatively to provide easier access to her chin, and flicked Al what looked like a suspiciously smug look. As if she was saying _See, my manners are impeccable_.

The black boy seated across from them stood up just slightly to get a better look at Trinity. "Wow, Albus, a cat, huh? More interesting than James's bad-tempered owl, definitely."

Al laughed quietly. The boy was one of James's friends, Vincent Samson. He'd visited the Potter home once during the summer with some of James's friends to pick him up for a trip to the city. He was funny and cool, and had been friendlier to Al and Lily than James's other friends, who didn't want to be seen talking to "little kids".

Unable to snag a seat by James for dinner, he'd squeezed in across from Al and his friends unselfconsciously. A lot of third years were too proud of being third years to want to be caught with the younger students, but Vincent at least didn't seem to care.

"Maybe Molly is right," Felicia had murmured, "and boys start losing brain cells when they turn thirteen."

Neither Al nor Andrew had talked to her for the next several minutes, though Trinity had started purring.

Traitor.

"She might be a little less polite when turkey shows up on your plate," Vincent pointed out with a teasing grin, indicating the cat with a jerk of his chin.

Al grinned back. He liked Vincent, and it would be nice to have another friend that was a boy. Plus, being friends with an older student who was at least somewhat popular would be pretty cool. Being the little brother of someone popular just wasn't the same.

The first years had all settled into their seats at their new Houses, and Professor Shacklebolt was coming forward to make his beginning of term announcement. Everyone immediately focused on him, eager to hear if he'd say anything about the strange competition he'd hinted at the previous year.

A faint smile hovered briefly on the Headmaster's lips, as if he knew the reason for such undivided attention, but instead he began with the usual basic information: informing the first years of the school rules and forbidden areas, reminding third years of their new electives, and encouraging the older students to study hard for their upcoming OWLs and NEWTs. He mentioned the time and date for Quidditch tryouts-- Andrew jostled Al meaningfully with his elbow –and congratulated the year's new Prefects.

At last he took a long sip from his glass of water and fixed everyone with a knowing look. "This year we have provided a special treat for you all. You may remember that last year I mentioned how it would behoove the Houses if they could learn to cooperate and repair relations through friendly competition." Everyone sat up a little straighter and began paying fierce attention. "This year we will host the first ever Hogwarts annual Inter-House Cooperation Events." He paused. "Name pending," he added dryly.

Al exchanged a quick, excited look with Andrew and Felicia.

"These Events will consist of trials that teams of four must complete by bringing to bear all their skill and guile. Because of this, first years are exempt, because they are still learning the basics of magic." There were a few groans and protests at this-- especially from those first years who had older siblings and had become curious about the Events over the summer. Shacklebolt ignored them, continuing in his deep voice. "Fifth and seventh year students are strictly volunteer only; you will possibly be sacrificing valuable study time for your OWLs and NEWTs, so I encourage you not to join the Events unless you absolutely feel you must."

"It's sort of like the Triwizard Tournament, isn't it?" Vincent murmured. "I heard stories from my uncle about when it was hosted here at Hogwarts. It was supposed to be pretty dangerous. One guy died, right?"

"I don't think the Headmaster would have something that dangerous," Al said slowly. "Especially not for something that's supposed to make us all buddy-buddy with each other."

"Good luck with that," Andrew scoffed, shooting a narrow glance towards the Slytherin table.

"For those of you who are absolutely not interested in participating, provide either a Prefect or your Head of House with your name," Shacklebolt was saying. "For the rest of you, I urge you to do your best in classes this year, because the staff will be observing you all throughout the first half of the year, to determine who may be matched well together or who shows potential for doing well in the Events. After Christmas Break, I will provide more information and the games will begin. But for now..." He clapped his hands, and the tables filled with food. "Eat! Welcome back to Hogwarts!"

Al, who hadn't realized how loudly his stomach was grumbling, began loading his plate eagerly. "I think I wanna do it. The Events."

"I'm not sure," Felicia admitted, reaching for the pumpkin juice. "I mean, there's a reason why first years can't participate. We're not much more talented than they are."

"Says who?" Andrew demanded, fighting Al for possession of the gravy boat. "I mean, look at Al! He did great in Charms last year. And we'll have plenty of time to learn loads more this year before Christmas."

Al gave up the gravy as a lost cause and stretched for the honeyed biscuits. Vincent helpfully offered him one. "I'd do it," the older boy said firmly. "Though I'm not sure I'd trust a Slytherin on my team."

"Slytherin?" Felicia repeated in surprise.

Vincent shrugged, nudging the cranberries towards Al once he'd finished scooping up a portion for himself. Al fumbled with the bowl self-consciously. "These games or events or whatever are supposed to help the Houses get along, right? So it makes sense that..."

"He'll put us on teams together," Al blurted. He exchanged startled looks with Felicia and Andrew, feeling foolish for not having realized it earlier. "The teams will be from mixed Houses."

"He did say teams of four," Felicia said with a look of dread.

"Oh, _that_ will go well," Andrew said sarcastically, cutting up his lamb chop with unnecessary force. "Can you imagine me and Sam Hawley on the same team?" He shot a glare towards the Slytherins. "I wouldn't put it past him to risk losing just to make a fool out of me. Or make sure I got hurt."

"You heard the Headmaster," Felicia said. "The Professors are going to try and determine who might work well together."

"Fat chance."

Al slipped Trinity a piece of turkey and didn't say anything. He couldn't really imagine getting stuck on a team with Slytherin, either. Not after last year. Though... he and Scorpius had learned to keep a wary truce in Potions, at least. Maybe they'd do all right together. Even if Scorpius didn't like it, he couldn't see the other boy sabotaging an Event just to let him take a fall.

"I wonder if we'll be grouped by year," Felicia said, stirring everything on her plate together-- a process that Vincent watched with a look of faint disgust. "But that would be... what, six teams of four, I guess? That's a lot of teams."

"It'd make more sense to mix them up," Vincent said, averting his eyes from the mess on her plate. "A group of only second years wouldn't really stand a chance against the older kids." He flashed Al a quick grin. "No offense."

Al found himself returning the grin again. Vincent's smile was infectious and borderline mischievous. It was no wonder he was friends with James.

"Well, no use wondering and guessing about it now," Andrew decided, cramming potatoes in his mouth as fast as he could. "Don't have to worry about it 'til after Christmas. It's Quidditch we should focus on now." He looked pointedly at Al. "I still think you should go for it."

"So you've said," Al grumbled. "More than once."

Vincent looked at him in interest. "Oh, you're thinking of playing this year? Great! Could always use another Potter on the field."

Al looked at him in surprise. "Were you on the team last year?"

"Nah, didn't quite make the cut. I was just a substitute Chaser; never got called in. But the Captain told me to try again this year, so I'm gonna. You should come to tryouts with us. Your brother and cousins will be going, too."

Al squirmed, feeling put on the spot. "I'll think about it," he muttered, slipping Trinity another bit of turkey. She ate it in small, polite bites, and sat ramrod straight in his lap, awaiting more.

As everyone was finishing up their dinner sometime later, the Headmaster requested that third years stay behind so they could get their class schedules with the new electives. Vincent said a cheery farewell and moved to sit with James and Fred when some of the students in that area got up to leave. Al watched him go. Vincent was definitely chummy enough; maybe Al had made a new friend after all. Not that it mattered, probably. They were a year apart, and Vincent would be more likely to seek out James's company than hang around a group of second years.

"He's a nice bloke," Andrew said, as if he'd read Al's thoughts.

"He's really cute," Felicia agreed, then flushed and turned her attention on her leftovers when Al and Andrew turned to stare at her.

"Girls," Andrew muttered heavily, shaking his head at Al in disgust.

 

~*~

 

The next morning, Felicia, Andrew, and Al headed for Potions with heavy hearts.

"Remember how mean he got after all that mess with that stupid fifth House last year?" Andrew grumbled. "Wanna bet he's just as cranky this year?"

"The Headmaster is being pretty pushy about this whole cooperation thing," Felicia soothed. "Maybe he'll at least make an effort to be more... fair."

"He was fair at the beginning of last year, too," Al pointed out sourly. "But he was still a wart."

"Maybe he'll at least assign us with different partners this time," Felicia said with faint hope.

Her hopes were, it turned out, for nothing.

Professor Zabini seemed just as impatient and snide as they remembered him. The moment he realized students were stealthily trying to sit with friends, he moved around the room, tapping random students sharply on the shoulder to get them to rise from their self-appointed seats. "You will all be sitting with last year's partners," he announced. "The same rules apply. You may assist each other with your assignments, but there will be no talking to other students. Now move."

Sighing, Al collected his books, sent Felicia an apologetic look, and reluctantly made his way over to where Scorpius had claimed a seat near the back. At least they wouldn't be sitting so close to Zabini's desk this time.

He dumped his bag and books on the desk and slumped in his chair, shooting Scorpius an uncertain look. He was tempted to just remain silent after his earlier attempt at friendliness had been rebuffed, but the stark truth was that he may never have passed Potions his first year without Scorpius's help. Besides, if the teachers really were keeping an eye out for decent inter-House relations, he'd like to up his chances of getting paired with Scorpius in the Events rather than a much nastier Slytherin.

"You never did tell me how your summer was," he said.

Scorpius flicked him a sideways look and an impatient frown. "Potter, we are not friends."

"Yeah, you've made that pretty clear," Al said, feeling stung almost despite himself. "It's called being polite, Scorpius. Try it. Besides, we're stuck with each other all year in this class again, and we're going to have to help each other out. That'll be kind of hard to do if you won't even talk to me."

"We can talk about potion-making," Scorpius said, attention on his book as he flipped to the page indicated on the board. "My personal life is none of your business, Potter."

Al had to grit his teeth to hold back a sharp retort. He opened his book huffily and found the right page.

With Al's annoyance at his partner's unfriendliness, and Scorpius's cold determination to not give him the wrong idea by talking any more than necessary, neither of them ended up with a Potion that met with Zabini's critical expectations.

"At least he insinuated we were _both_ idiots," he said later to Felicia. "Looks like he's back to hating everyone equally after all."

"I told you," Andrew said with a touch of self-righteousness. "Scorpius isn't worth your time, Al. He's a stuck-up snotty troll. The more you try to be nice to him, the meaner he'll get. You'll see."

Al sighed inwardly and decided to change the subject.


	3. Quidditch Tryouts

**~*Chapter 3*~**

**Quidditch Tryouts**

 

Scorpius remained aloof and frosty for the rest of the week. Underneath his irritation, Al couldn't help but feel confused.

“All the Slytherins are acting even harsher towards the other Houses than usual,” Molly pointed out when Al brought it up with her after breakfast on Saturday. They were all heading outside to enjoy the warm sun and fresh air. “Hufflepuff is the only House they're ignoring rather than outright sneering at. It's just because of that stupid fifth House mess last year. I'm sure they'll get over it. Especially if the Headmaster's Events really do what they're supposed to.”

“But Scorpius and I were okay by the end of last year,” Al argued. “Even after what James did to him. Once he realized I wasn't one of 'em--”

“Maybe his father said something to him,” Rose said. “I mean, Draco Malfoy and your dad hated each other. If he found out his son was being even remotely polite to you, he may have told him off.”

“Or other Slytherins may be giving him trouble about it,” Felicia said quietly. “They know you keep trying to start conversations with him, and I'm sure they don't like it. Maybe he feels like he has to keep pushing you away to save face.”

“Or,” Andrew interrupted loudly, “Malfoy's just a bogey-brained troll and we should stop talking about him. Seriously, Al.” He seized Al by the shoulder and turned him around, pointing out a pair of girls hurrying outside ahead of them. They were clutching broomsticks and chattering excitedly. “It's time for the Quidditch tryouts. Are you going to enter or not?”

Al stiffened. He had been so busy with schoolwork, he hadn't had time to even give the tryouts a second thought. “I don't have a broom,” he blurted.

Andrew squinted at him suspiciously. “Your brother has a broom. Your parents lived and breathed Quidditch for ages. Why didn't they get _you_ a broom?”

Al gritted his teeth. “James didn't get his 'til the start of last year. And I didn't ask for one because I _didn't think I'd need it_.”

“First years aren't really supposed to have their own brooms,” Rose said. “Uncle Harry got special permission when he was Seeker. Come on, Andrew, don't pressure him.”

“Albus!”

They turned as Vincent came strolling up, his broom held casually slung over one shoulder. He flashed them all a big smile of greeting before focusing his attention on Al. “Heading for the tryouts? I'll walk with you.”

“He doesn't have a broom,” Felicia said before Al could respond.

Vincent waved a hand carelessly. “Oh, that's fine. The school has loaners for players that don't have their own brooms yet.”

Al opened and shut his mouth, struggling to think of a rebuttal. To be perfectly honest with himself, he wasn't sure _what_ he wanted to do. His whole family enjoyed going to Quidditch games, and he was no exception. But the thought of messing up and losing a game in front of the whole school still made him shrink inside.

As he glanced around at his friends for help, he spotted a nearby group of Slytherins discussing their plans for the weekend.

Scorpius was with them. He'd glanced over instinctively at Vincent's loud welcome, and was making a sour face as he eyed the broom. His gaze met Al's for a brief moment, and his frown deepened before he turned his back deliberately. Scorpius, Al remembered, had not attended a single Quidditch game their first year. Apparently he had a low opinion of the players and the game. Was he judging Al for even considering it?

Al felt a spike of anger.

“Yeah, okay,” he said louder than he'd meant to. “I'll go.”

“Yes!” Andrew pumped a fist in the air. “You'll do great!”

“You should come, too,” Al said quickly. “You're the one who's been pushing me to do this.”

Andrew deflated a bit. “Aw, c'mon, that's just because I think you'd be great at it. I'm rubbish on a broom, and I've never played before.”

Trying without much success to hide his irritation, Al fell in step with Vincent as the older boy led the way towards the Quidditch pitch. He was relieved when Rose motioned the others not to follow. He didn't think he'd be able to handle the embarrassment if he made a fool of himself in front of his friends.

“So which position are you going to try for?” Vincent asked easily. If he wondered why the others weren't coming, he was kind enough not to ask.

“Oh... I don't know.” Al tried hard to keep his nervousness from showing. “I was thinking Keeper, maybe.”

“You may not have any luck there,” Vincent admitted with a quick little smile. “They usually only let third years or higher try out for that spot, and it's almost always someone with experience that they pick. Unless someone does really well in tryouts. They just assume younger kids haven't gotten good enough on a broom to be able to block well enough.”

“That makes sense,” Al admitted, hoping he didn't sound too disappointed. As they topped the hill, he could see the Quidditch pitch below. His heart began to pound. “I don't think I'm that great on a broom,” he said with abrupt honesty. “I'm still not a hundred percent sure I want to do this.”

“Well, don't let anyone bully you into it,” Vincent said, frowning. “Not me, and especially not your brother or your friend back there.”

Al shrugged, unable to meet the taller boy's eyes. “I know. But... I mean, a part of me _does_ want to play. And Dad was telling me I should take a few more chances. He thinks I'm too... cautious sometimes.”

Vincent laughed aloud. “That's not really a bad thing, I guess.” He sent Al another quick grin. “Though I guess it'd make life a little less fun.”

Al managed to smile in response, though for a moment he wasn't sure whether to blame the butterflies in his stomach on the upcoming tryouts or not. “Mom says James is enough trouble as it is,” he said. “I think she actually likes that I'm 'cautious'. She says it's good that at least _one_ of us thinks before we act or speak, or Hogwarts would never be able to handle two Potters at once.” Vincent laughed again, and Al changed the subject. “What about you? You said you'll try out for Chaser again?”

“That's right,” Vincent said as they stepped onto the pitch. “I think I've got a good shot this year.”

Al nodded, but was unable to answer. His throat had closed up with nerves as he lifted his eyes to watch the players flashing by overhead on their brooms. A quaffle was being tossed back and forth at lightening speed.

“Looks like they've already started,” Vincent started to say, then gave a wave and a shout to get someone's attention.

Al turned and saw James hurrying over.

“Al! You came after all!” James looked so happy to see him, Al couldn't bring himself to let his apprehension show. He forced himself to smile back.

“Tryouts already start?” Vincent asked, jerking his chin towards the flyers. Al distracted himself by turning his attention on the group of hopeful students clustered on the south end of the pitch. They were all clutching brooms and chattering with nervous excitement, watching the practice game with envy.

“Nah, that's just some of the team warming up,” James said.

“You have to try out again, huh? What about your cousins?”

“Roxy and I need to try out since we were only on the team one year. Lucas already told Fred he's pretty much guaranteed a spot, though, unless some newcomer does better than him. I think he's hoping no one beats me, though.” James puffed out his chest. “Lucas says Fred 'n' me are a great pair of Beaters.”

At the mention of the team Captain, Al found himself frowning. Lucas Thatcher, now in his final year at Hogwarts, had supposedly been the one to come up with the idea of the House of Judgement in the first place. It had not occurred to him that he'd have to play with the young man if he did get on the team.

Maybe he'd learned his lesson like James had, Al tried to console himself. He'd never actually spoken to Lucas before, after all, and James seemed to get along with him all right.

“You're trying out for Seeker, right?” James asked him, jerking his attention back to the conversation.

“Wha-- No!” Al paused, trying to make his tone more even. “No, I'm not really interested in being a Seeker. I was gonna go for Keeper, but--”

“You're just a newbie, and a second year,” James scoffed. “You can't be Keeper. C'mon, you should definitely try for Seeker.”

“Why Seeker?” Vincent asked, frowning. “He said he doesn't want to.”

“That's usually the position he gets when the family plays.”

“I said no,” Al said, raising his voice a bit to override his brother. “You think I want the whole game riding on whether or not I mess up? No thank you.”

“Oh, don't be such a drama queen, Al. The Seeker doesn't _always_ determine the game. Besides, we need someone small--”

“And quick. I'm not quick; I haven't been flying that long!”

“You're tricky,” James said, which Al recognized as his version of a compliment. “That's why we keep makin' you do it when we all play at home. If you can't be fast, be smart.”

Al pressed his lips tight together. His stomach was churning with nerves.

“He said he didn't want to,” Vincent said firmly, giving James a stern look. “He can try out for Chaser, like me. Since he can't get Keeper and it sounds like you and Fred have the Beater positions in the bag.”

“Look, Lucas will let you try out for more than one position if you really want to,” James said, his tone just this side of wheedling. “They're doing Chaser tryouts first, so you can go ahead and do that. But then you've gotta promise me you'll try out for Seeker, too. If you make it on the team, Lucas will probably let you pick.”

“Probably?” Al repeated, his voice a little squeaky.

“Well.. I mean, if he thinks you're better at one than the other, it'd be better for the team for you to take that slot. C'mon, you'll do great!”

Al looked from his brother to the team flying overhead, feeling defeated. “Fine,” he said with bad grace. “But if I _do_ get on the team, I want to be a Chaser, okay?”

“Unless you stink at it, sure,” James said, then added quickly, “Not that I think you will. You'll do fine, you'll see. You're a Potter!”

Al fought back the impulse to stomp off, and took a deep breath. “I need a broom.”

After that, Al was far to nervous to be annoyed at his brother. James fetched him a loaner broom, and Al added himself reluctantly to the group of eager Chaser hopefuls. One of the overhead flyers landed in front of them, and introduced himself as the Captain. Al eyed him thoughtfully, keeping his face carefully blank.

Al remembered thinking Lucas was huge the prior year. From up close, he somehow seemed even taller. He even had a five o'clock shadow on his jaw. He looked like he was in his early twenties, not halfway through seventeen.

He had an ordinary face and a crooked nose, and he seemed cocky and friendly enough. Still, Al found it hard to view him with much optimism. This was a boy who'd thought bullying Slytherins all year was a great idea. What if he wasn't feeling nearly as contrite as James about last year's mess?

“So, another Potter, huh?” Al jerked to attention as Lucas singled him out, grinning broadly. “Your brother and cousins did great last year. It'll be good to have another of you on the team.” Al tried not to cringe as a few of the other students sent him resentful glances. “Okay, Potter, and you, whatsyourname-- Mackenzie, let's see what you've got!”

Al felt frozen in place, his fingers numb from his frightened grip on his broom. He hadn't expected to be picked _first_. He'd hoped to watch the other players and see how they did. But of course James had blabbed that his little brother was trying out, and Lucas just _had_ to put him on the spot. Vincent gave his shoulder a brief, encouraging squeeze, and Al forced himself to follow the slender fifth year girl Lucas had paired him with.

Maybe it was a good thing, he tried to convince himself. It meant he could just get it over with quickly.

“You're Fred's cousin?” the girl asked abruptly as they strode towards the middle of the pitch.

Al sent her a sideways look, confused. Fred was in the year below her, but perhaps his cousin was more popular than he'd realized. “Yeah. I'm Albus.”

“Francine,” she said crisply. She hadn't, he realized, looked over at him once. Her chin was high and she kept her eyes straight ahead. If she thought competing against a Potter would be challenging, she certainly did a good job at hiding it.

They both mounted their brooms, and she shot upwards to join the other players. Taking a few quick, deep breaths, Al kicked off and soared after her. His grip on his broom remained painfully tight. He could fly decently enough after some practice games with his family over the summer, but here he would be expected to really shine. Family games were all in good fun. Only James got really competitive in those. But this was serious, now. The Gryffindor team was notorious for scoffing at the phrase “it's just a game”.

He made the mistake of glancing down, and caught James and Vincent waving to him encouragingly. Everyone was watching. All the other Chaser hopefuls were probably praying he'd botch things up. For a moment Al was afraid he'd be sick.

 _Ignore everyone_ , he told himself firmly, and jerked his gaze to Lucas as the Captain flew over, balancing the quaffle.

“Right, we're just going to do a few practice runs and let you two show us your stuff,” Lucas announced. He gestured with the quaffle to the five other flyers. “Fred and Aalam are going to be the Beaters; we'll just have one per team for this tryout. Fred's on your side. Olivia and Geoffrey are your opposing Chasers.”

Olivia had been a Chaser last year, Al realized with a start. Surely she and Roxanne were hoping to keep their positions this year. Did that mean Lucas only needed one Chaser, if any?

 

“I'm the opposing Keeper, and Lucille's with you,” Lucas continued. He grinned. “Try to impress me.” He flew off towards his rings, and Lucille offered Al and Francine a wink before heading for her own. Al hoped no one could tell he was shaking a little.

“Two points wins,” Lucas called across the field. “Let's play!” He hurled the ball at them.

Olivia and Geoffrey were moving the second the quaffle left his hand. By the time Al and Francine caught up, Olivia already had the quaffle tucked neatly under her arm and was speeding towards Lucille's rings.

“Heads up, Al,” Fred called, and sent a bludger directly at Olivia's head. She dodged it, putting herself a few feet closer to Al. He reached desperately for the quaffle, but her grip was firm, and she was a more experienced flyer. She evaded him easily with a fancy spin, but couldn't get the quaffle past Lucille's guard.

And so it went for the next ten minutes. At one point Francine did manage to wrestle the ball away from Geoffrey, but she dropped it a few seconds later when Aalam slammed a bludger into her broom, making her wobble dangerously. Al couldn't fly fast enough to catch up with the opposing Chasers, and even when Fred helped steer them his way, he couldn't get the quaffle away.

Finally Francine was forced to pass to him when she got a fumbled quaffle but found her way blocked. “Get it!” she shouted, flinging it past Olivia.

Al nearly fell off his broom trying to catch the quaffle. He thought he heard faint laughter from below, and felt his ears burning. _Never mind_ , he told himself, trying to pin the ball against his side like he'd seen Olivia do. He jerked his broom around and lay down flat, trying to beat the other Chasers to the opposing rings. Geoffrey was hot on his heels, and Al panicked, sure he'd feel the blow of Aalam's bludger hitting him from above at any moment. He got as close to the rings as he dared, then flung the quaffle.

Lucas darted to the side and knocked the quaffle aside. He didn't look too impressed.

Eventually Olivia scored. Francine dropped the quaffle once, and had it deflected by Lucas another time. The next time Al got the quaffle, he pretended to aim for the left hoop, then hurled it at the center one when Lucas moved to intercept. Lucas still managed to block it, but it was a close thing. And then Olivia was catching the quaffle on the rebound and tossing it to Geoffrey for the winning point.

Lucas blew his whistle, and they all flew back down to the pitch.

“Nice feint, Potter,” Lucas said approvingly. “I was starting to worry. I guess you just need practice.” He pointed at a small clump of students off to one side. “James said you wanted to try for Seeker, too? Wait over there; Seekers are last.” He raised his voice. “Wilson and Freeman, you're up!”

Francine scowled darkly and stomped off. Lucas hadn't said anything about her; it seemed unlikely she'd be considered for the position. Feeling much better than he had five minutes ago, Al jogged over to join the Seeker potentials, grinning when James offered him a thumbs up.

Maybe Lucas was right. With practice, he could do all right. Playing with the team might even be fun. For the first time, he found himself tentatively hoping he'd make the cut.

 

 


	4. A Cat in Potions

 

**~*Chapter 4*~**

**A Cat in Potions**

 

“You're the Seeker??” Felicia squealed.

Al's lips peeled back in a grimace. He was stirring his beans moodily with his spoon, glaring down at his lunch as if it had done him a great injustice. “Don't remind me,” he grumbled.

“Congratulations, man!” Andrew crowed, slapping him on the shoulder and ignoring the dark look that earned him. “You should be happy! Man, your dad's gonna be tickled pink, right? Your mum, too. They were both Seekers, weren't they?”

Al tossed his fork onto his plate, and Andrew fell silent, finally noticing his friend's sour mood. He and Felicia exchanged an anxious look. “Well... aren't you happy?” he asked hesitantly.

“They're happy enough _for_ me,” Al said, jerking his thumb further down the table where James, Roxanne, and Fred were seated. Vincent had come to sit with Al and his friends again-- perhaps for moral support, since he seemed to be the only one to have known how Al would react to Lucas's decision.

Vincent sighed, speaking quietly as if to keep other students from overhearing. “He tried out for Chaser, too. Honestly he was a little better in his Chaser tryouts. Not,” he added guiltily, “that you did badly as a Seeker.”

“I didn't catch the snitch a single time.”

“Yes, well... neither did anyone else trying out. And you got close that one time!”

Andrew looked baffled. “Then why didn't they make you a Chaser?”

“Because Roxanne still wanted to stay on as Chaser and proved her stuff, and Vincent did way better than I did.” Al glanced at the older boy. “You were pretty brilliant, by the way. So you can stop looking so guilty.” He drew in a deep breath, looking back down at his plate. “Anyway, like you said before, Andrew, their Seeker from last year did quit the team to focus on her schoolwork. And since no one else did any good at tryouts, Lucas said some rubbish about how I show potential and how I'll get better with practice. Hah!” He reached for his pumpkin juice. “What he means is I'm small enough, and James vouches for me, so he's placing his bets on me and hoping they cash out. I don't _want_ to be Seeker! I mean, James could probably make an all right Seeker himself, but he loves being a Beater too much.”

 

“I'm sorry, Al,” Felicia said. “But... maybe Lucas is right. And your brother wouldn't put in a good word for you if he didn't mean it. Maybe you'll end up being great at it.”

Al gulped his pumpkin juice to avoid answering. He knew they were just trying to help, but he couldn't quite push back his burning resentment towards Andrew for pressuring him into the tryouts in the first place. The first game was months away, but every time he thought about it, he got queasy.

“Don't worry,” Vincent said bracingly. “We practice two or three times a week. You'll see; all that practice really will pay off. You think your brother was great at aiming the bludger when he first started out? It was his raw talent that made Lucas decide to take a chance with him, and it worked.”

“I'm betting he took the chance because of who our dad is,” Al said moodily. “You heard him-- he was thrilled that 'another Potter' would be on the team.” He put his face in his hands. “I hate this. Everyone's expecting me to be as great as Dad was, but I'm going to fail hard.”

“Now stop that,” Felicia said a little sharply. “Vincent just said you'll have plenty of practice. You don't have to be fantastic, and the whole game doesn't revolve around you. If the team loses, it's everyone's fault, not just yours.” She pushed over a bowl of pudding. “Now come on, eat up. There's no use worrying so much about something that's so far off. By the time it's Quidditch season, you'll have lots of practice under your belt. Focus on these weird Events the Headmaster's got planned if it helps.”

Al lowered his hands and obediently served himself some pudding. She had a point. Practice _would_ help. And sometimes whole games went by without anyone ever catching the snitch. Maybe it would be all right. It was only for one year, anyway. He didn't have to play next year if he didn't want to. And if he did want to, maybe he'd have a better shot at Chaser instead.

He told himself this over and over, but the nerves still fluttered in his guts every time his mind strayed towards Quidditch.

 

~*~

 

Felicia nearly made them both late for Potions on Monday morning.

“It's Nicodemus's fault,” she explained, huffing and puffing as she hurried down the stairs to catch up with Andrew and Al. The little owl was perched on her shoulder, clutching on for dear life as it was jostled around. He looked quite put-upon. “When I tried to pick him up, he started flying all over the room, but Professor Switch said we needed to bring our animals to class today, so--”

“All right, we get it, your owl's a nuisance,” Andrew interrupted, already turning and taking the stairs down two at a time. “C'mon!”

Trinity, who was draped across Al's shoulders, looking very languid and regal, eyeballed Nicodemus thoughtfully. Al reached up automatically to lie a hand on her head in a silent warning to stay put. He wasn't sure if her good manners included not going after pet birds. “Let's just go, or Zabini will have our hides.”

They rushed all the way down to the dungeons, and barely made it. Zabini was just walking towards the door to shut it when they burst into the classroom.

“Cutting it close, are we?” he started, then came to an abrupt halt, his narrowed eyes flicking from cat to owl and back again. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Sorry, Professor,” Felicia panted, trying to dislodge her irritably hooting owlet from her shoulder. “We need them for another class.”

“But not this one,” Zabini cut her off coolly. “You should have gotten them later.”

Al managed not to glare, but only just. “But Transfiguration is on the other side of the school from Gryffindor tower, we'd never have gotten to class in time.”

“And yet being late for Potions is forgivable.”

“We weren't late,” Andrew snapped.

Zabini ignored him, leveling Al and Felicia with a stern look. “If either of those... _animals_ disrupts class, you will take them out of here and earn failing marks for missing class. Now take your seats.”

Seething, Al all but stomped over to the desk he shared with Scorpius. Felicia took her own seat, managing to prise Nicodemus from her robes so she could hide him under the desk in her lap, where he thankfully settled down into sullen silence.

As soon as he sat down, Trinity slipped off of Al's shoulders and perched herself on the desk between the two boys, staring alertly forward as if she, too, were there to attend class.

Scorpius was looking at the cat with an unreadable expression on his face. After a moment his hand lifted slightly before he jerked it back into his lap again.

Al caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and suppressed a smile. “You can pet her, you know,” he murmured. “She's quite friendly.”

Scorpius scowled and turned his eyes forward. Al remembered the dirty look Scorpius had thrown towards himself and Vincent before Quidditch tryouts the other day, and decided irritably to ignore him right back.

As if reading his mind, Scorpius muttered from the side of his mouth, “Heard you made Seeker. I also heard you were rubbish at it. Figures they'd give a Potter special privileges. Guess you'll regret it when you make a fool of yourself in the first game.”

Al had to bite his tongue to hold back a retort as Zabini swept past their desk towards the blackboard. He was furious at the snide comment, but worse, it brought back all his own fears. “I didn't want to be Seeker,” he finally said when he thought he could control his tone. He turned to the page Zabini was writing down, almost ripping the pages with excessive force. “I didn't even want to be on the stupid team. Anyway, it's none of your business.”

Scorpius sneered and got up to get the required ingredients. After a moment, Al followed, knowing Scorpius wouldn't bother to get enough for the both of them.

They each worked on their potions in frosty silence. After the first few minutes, Al almost forgot about Scorpius's cruel remarks, he was focusing so intently on following the book's directions. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Trinity suddenly reached out and put a soft paw on his hand as he reached for the dried moss.

He looked quickly to make sure Zabini hadn't noticed, then stroked Trinity's head a couple of times. Perhaps she didn't like being ignored. He reached for the moss again, but she put her paw on the back of his hand again, and this time she let out her claws. He jumped, banging his knee on the bottom of his desk, and several heads swiveled around to see what the commotion was. Al jerked his hand away hastily as Zabini turned to glower. He waited, breath held, but after a moment, Zabini turned back to berating a student who'd already managed to mess up his potion.

“Trinity,” Al whispered sternly, “I can't play with you right now. D'you want me to fail?”

Trinity just blinked slowly at him.

Al sighed and looked back to his book. He'd forgotten already how much moss he needed.

He did a double-take. Somehow, he'd missed a step. _That was close_ , he thought, reaching instead for the sea salt. This time Trinity let him do it.

Scorpius was now eyeing the cat with something like suspicion. He looked at his book, then abruptly reached for a bottle of mealworms. Trinity swung her tail almost lazily back and forth across the top of the desk, effectively pushing the little bottle just slightly out of reach.

Scorpius withdrew his hand, staring at her. Al glanced between them, puzzled.

Scorpius caught him looking and returned his attention to his book. “Smart cat,” he muttered grudgingly, and picked up a different ingredient.

Somehow, without either boy helping each other, they both managed to make a passable version of the potion.

“Don't feel too proud of yourself, Potter,” Scorpius said as he snatched up his bag at the end of class. “That cat saved your neck at least twice.”

“What?” But Al was speaking to thin air; Scorpius was already heading for the door. Al looked at Trinity, feeling uncertain. She was a wizard's cat, as Molly had said. That made her more well behaved and intelligent than ordinary cats, so...

“Did you stop me using the wrong ingredients?” he asked. Trinity blinked at him and yawned, showing off her pink little tongue. “That's crazy,” Al huffed. “I'm talking crazy.” Gathering his things and scooping his cat into his arms, he hurried to catch up with Felicia and Andrew in the hallway.

 

~*~

 

It turned out that their assignment for Transfiguration that day was to change the color of their animals. Al's goal had been to turn Trinity's inky fur white. He was still struggling with the intricate magic, however, and instead only turned her fur an ugly muddy orange.

Trinity seemed very offended by the whole incident, and wriggled away from him the instant they were out of class, darting off down the hall to go sulk in the Gryffindor common room. Al started to go after her, but Rose stopped him, laughing. “She'll be fine. You heard the Professor; it should wear off in an hour or two.”

“Well I don't want her just sitting out there in the hallway all day,” Al fretted. “I mean, it's not like she can give the portrait the right password.”

“She'll be fine, don't worry.” Rose steered him towards the right staircase. “Now go on, or you'll be late for History of Magic.”

“Oh, boy,” Al said with an eyeroll. “Wouldn't want to miss that.”

“I think it's interesting,” Felicia said brightly. “I mean... a ghost teaching class! And there's all these wizard wars I've never heard of.”

“You sound like Mum,” Rose laughed. “I guess everything's new and neat at first to muggle-borns. Still, Professor Blinn is so dull, I can't believe you're not tired of his class yet.”

“He... could stand to make it more interesting,” Felicia admitted reluctantly. “He's starting to wear on me a bit. But he actually makes me want to read the material, and that's got to count for something.”

“Only because even dusty old books have got to be more exciting than him,” Andrew snorted.

Rose waved, hurrying off to her Herbology class. As the other three headed down the staircase, bemoaning the difficulties of Transfiguration, Al happened to glance out of a window. He could just barely make out Hagrid's hut from this height, but there was no smoke coming from the chimney. His eyes skipped automatically towards the treeline. Hagrid was one of the very few people who ventured into the Forbidden Forest. Perhaps he was out checking on the animals that lived there, or...

Something in the trees moved, and Al came to a stop, squinting as he tried to make out the form.

He assumed it was Hagrid at first. No one was that big. But no... whoever or whatever it was, it was disturbing branches far too high even for Hagrid.

Andrew and Felicia realized they'd left him behind, and paused a few steps down, looking up at him curiously.

“C'mon, Al, we'll be late,” Felicia said.

“There's something in the forest,” Al muttered, pointing. “Something _big_.”

They came up the stairs to look, but the trees had stopped moving. Andrew peered out suspiciously for a moment, then shrugged. “That forest is full of creepy crawlies and things that go bump in the night. Maybe it's just some new pet of Hagrid's. You did say he likes to make pets of everything from giant spiders to dragons.”

Al frowned, but didn't argue. He'd caught the briefest glimpse of something, but it was too big and too hidden by the foliage to determine what it was. But somehow he doubted it was a dragon. Whatever he'd seen, it'd been as grey as the stones that made up Hogwarts.

Perhaps his eyes had been playing tricks on him. And Andrew was right, the forest _was_ full of odd things. Dismissing the incident, he hurried with his friends down the stairs to class.

 


	5. What's in a Name?

**~*Chapter 5*~**

**What's in a Name?**

 

His very first practice with the Gryffindor Quidditch team was such a disaster for the first hour,  
Al almost quit on the spot.

Most of the team had played together before, and knew exactly how to react to each other during a game. That left the new members looking even more uncoordinated and lost in the air. What didn't help was Lucas's habit of using shame to try and get the most out of the new recruits. “Come on, Samson, you fly like an old lady!” he roared. “And Potter, you can do better than that! C'mon, your dad might be watching one of the games one day! Pick it up!” It wasn't until the nerve-wracked Chaser alternate burst into tears that he got embarrassed enough to back off. When he paused the game briefly to give impatient pointers, Al took the opportunity to rise up high over the field, where he couldn't hear any of it. After a moment Vincent soared over to float beside him.

“This is a nightmare,” Al said, gripping his broom handle painfully tight. He was a little more confident in his flying ability, but he had yet to spot the Snitch-- even though he'd watched Lucas release it an hour ago. “Is Lucas really planning on bullying us all season? It's just making everyone grouchy and uptight.”

Vincent chuckled. “I wouldn't worry about it. James said he was the same last year, but that he's always the worst at the first practice of the year. He'll cool off.”

“He'd better. I have to listen to James fuss at me all the time; I don't need Lucas doing it, too.” He turned his broom slightly, looking over towards the Forbidden Forest. From his vantage point, he got a good view of the treetops, but the foliage was much too dense to see through.

Vincent followed his gaze and cocked his head inquisitively. “See something?”

“I thought I did one day,” Al said, letting his eyes track slowly across the trees. “Something big. I was wondering what it is.”

“Giant, maybe?” Vincent peered at the trees, shading his eyes with a calloused hand. “Isn't the Gamekeeper half giant? I think I heard something about him getting family visits sometimes now.”

“Yeah, mostly his half brother. But he's a runt compared to other giants, and what I saw was _huge_.” He gnawed on his lip thoughtfully. “And anyway, it was grey. I mean, like... stone grey. It was weird. I was wondering if...” He hesitated. “Never mind, it's probably nothing.”

“What?”

“Well... I was just wondering if maybe it had something to do with the Inter-House whatever. The events. You said on the first day that it reminded you of the Triwizard Tournament, right? And they had all kinds of wild things in that. I mean, Dad had to face off against a _dragon_.”

“Huh.” Vincent looked back towards the trees with more interest. “Might be. I wonder what it is.” He flashed Al a teasing grin. “Having second thoughts about volunteering?”

“No way. It sounds fun.”

Vincent laughed. “You're scared silly of playing Quidditch in front of the whole school, but not competing in some unknown competition in front of them?”

Al flushed. “Well... that's different. I mean, no one knows what they're getting into when it comes to the events. But in Quidditch, everyone just expects me to be great because of my parents. At least if I flop in the events, I won't be the only one. No one knows what to expect in those.”

“Speaking of the...” Vincent lifted a hand and made air quotes, “Inter-House Cooperation Events, there has got to be a better name we can come up with.”

Al grinned. “I keep messing up and calling it the ICHE or the IECH... I think I called it ICE the other day...”

Vincent's laughter was drowned out by Lucas shouting up to them to quit goofing off and get back to work.

 

~*~

 

Somehow, almost without Al consciously noticing, Vincent had become a semi-regular part of his group of friends.

It wasn't until Andrew pointed it out during a weekend study session that it occurred to him that outside of his family, Vincent was the first older student he'd met who didn't mind being seen hanging around a group of younger kids.

“It's great,” Andrew gushed. Vincent had already left the library, apparently having even less patience for studying than Andrew himself. “Being seen with an older popular student is gonna do great for _our_ reputation.”

“Plus he's ahead of us, so he knows more about a lot of this stuff,” Rose pointed out dryly, indicating her notes. “He's a good study partner.”

“Yeah, yeah, that, too, I guess.” He looked around at the others with a skeptical look. “Wonder what he finds so interesting about us. It's not like any of us are popular or super good at anything.”

“I think he just likes spending time with Al,” Felicia said lightly, grinning down at her book. She jumped when Rose stamped on her foot.

Hearing his name, Al finally dragged his attention from his Potions essay. “What?”

“Nothing.” Ignoring Andrew's confused squint, Felicia pushed her book across the table for Al to see better. “Did you understand any of this?”

Al took one look and pushed the book away with disgust. “Ask Rose. Almost everything about Transfiguration gives me a headache.”

“Hey, I'm not very good at it, either,” Rose protested. “I can tell you how to answer certain questions about it by referencing the coursework, but I can't _explain_ it properly. And you need to know what you're talking about to really make an essay any good.”

“I wish Scorpius would just help me with Transfiguration,” Al huffed. “He says he's doing well in that class. But every time I bring it up, he shoots me down.”

Andrew stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. “ _Why_ do you even talk to him? How often does he have to act like a git for you to get the hint and just write him off? You can't be friends with everyone, you know.”

“Because I think he's hiding a sense of humor under all that snark,” Al burst out in frustration. “And when we actually try to work together in class, we're okay. I think he's just too... defensive to bother letting me try to be friendly.”

Rose looked at him in surprise. “Surprising insights,” she said slowly. “This has been bothering you for awhile, hasn't it?”

Felicia cleared her throat uneasily. “Andrew kind of has a point, though, Al. I mean, why bother? If someone doesn't want to be your friend, it's best to just let it go. You don't have to be enemies with him, either. Can't you just... be passing acquaintances and let it go at that? I would think you'd consider yourself lucky that he isn't just mean to you for the sake of being mean.”

Al shrugged bad-temperedly, eyes on his parchment. He didn't want to admit he didn't have a solid answer. He suspected his overtures at friendship had initially been an attempt to make up for the rift between their fathers, but getting glimpses of Scorpius's sarcastic sense of humor or his more human impulses, like wanting to pet Trinity, made him feel stubborn about it. If Scorpius would just start acting like a decent human being, everything would be fine. But instead he had to snap and growl and put up his defenses for no good reason, and it got on Al's nerves.

“He's Slytherin,” Andrew said simply, chewing on his quill and then promptly spitting out ink. “He's got his own Slytherin friends. He's never gonna want anything to do with Albus Potter, son of the famous Harry Potter of Gryffindor. End of story. Now someone remind me which potion uses mistletoe sprigs again.”

Rose sighed. “Which one? There are like... seven.”

Annoyed, Al decided to let the argument drop. He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “I'm going to see if anyone returned that book on vampires. If I have to put up with Professor Macmillan's disappointed frown one more time when I get an answer wrong, I'm going to scream.” He ducked into the Inhuman aisle and nearly ran into someone hovering just out of sight.

It was Scorpius Malfoy.

The other boy took a quick step back, clutching a thick book to his chest. He was staring at Al in an odd way, with his lips pressed tight together and his eyes a little wide. Al couldn't tell if he was furious or simply embarrassed at having been caught--

“Were you eavesdropping?” Al demanded, remembering to lower his voice to a hiss at the last second.

“I was looking for a book,” Scorpius said through clenched teeth. “It's not my fault you and your weird friends yammer away for anyone to hear.”

Al felt his ears grow hot. Suddenly he was the one who felt caught between anger and humiliation. How much had Scorpius heard? Andrew calling Scorpius a git, and Felicia gently chiding Al for bothering to trying to be nice? He must really find Al pathetic now.

Scorpius was eyeing him a little warily. “I'm not your friend, Potter,” he finally said.

_That answers that question,_ Al thought with an internal wince. “Yeah, you've made that pretty clear,” he snapped.

“So why do you keep acting like I am?”

Al gaped at him. “Last I checked, attempting to be  _polite_ is the normal human thing to do. That doesn't mean I wish we were best friends or anything. I just don't understand why you have to be such a wart.”

Scorpius scowled back, then abruptly dropped his gaze. “My father--” He stopped, as if he couldn't bring himself to continue.

Al felt his eyes narrow. “Let me guess. He doesn't want you having anything to do with a Potter.”

“He-- Last year, before school, he--”

Al watched his fumbling with mild fascination. He'd never seen the other boy so uncomfortable.

“He encouraged me to try and... be friends. With you. Or... any of you. Potters, I mean.”

Al could only stare, temporarily at a loss for words. “Wait, what? Why?” He frowned. “Hold on, is that why you act like such a prat? You won't be my friend just because your dad told you to try?” He ran his hand fretfully through his hair, trying to wrap his head around it. “Why on earth does your dad want you to be friends with any of us? Everyone knows your dad and my dad were... Well, I mean I know they're at least polite to each other now, but... They used to loathe each other. I kind of figured he'd want you to stay as far away from us as possible.”

Scorpius shrugged in a jerky, angry motion. He still wouldn't look at Al. “It was probably Mum's idea,” he muttered. “Some crap about... letting old grudges lie, building bridges, some rubbish like that.” His grip tightened almost imperceptibly on his book. “Your dad  _did_ save my dad's life in the end. As much as he hates to admit it.”

Al decided not to mention the fact that Narcissa Malfoy had already repaid that particular debt. “You know, you don't have to be friendly with me just because your dad wants you to,” he said slowly. “Would it kill you to just... try being a little nice? Maybe forget I'm a Potter for two seconds? Because I get really sick of being seen as just another Potter sometimes, and it's really annoying that you do it, too.”

Scorpius shot him a quick glare, then averted his eyes again. “You're Gryffindor,” he said mulishly.

Al couldn't help but be forcibly reminded of his Aunt Hermione's words the previous Christmas. “Yeah, well, maybe it's dumb how much our two Houses don't get along. Even the Professors can see that; that's the whole point behind this ICHE, isn't it?”

“IHCE,” Scorpius corrected automatically.

Al snorted out half a laugh before he could stop himself. “They need to think of a better name.”

“What, like the Idiot Marathon?”

This time Al couldn't stop his laugh, and had to slap a hand over his mouth when the warning hiss of the librarian shot across the room. For just the briefest moment, he thought he saw the flicker of a smile on Scorpius's face.

Then Andrew popped his head around the aisle, looking puzzled. “Merlin's beard, Al, what're you snickering about? You're taking forever to find that boo--” He stopped, eyes narrowing. “Is he bothering you?”

Al turned quickly, but Scorpius was already striding off, back stiff.

“No.” Al hurried back, shooing Andrew towards their table. “I just ran into him, that's all. Looks like no one's returned that book yet.”

“He was spying on us, wasn't he?” Andrew seethed.

“You're paranoid,” Al said firmly, practically pushing him into his seat. “Never mind him. C'mon, we've still got loads of homework to do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Aghhh it's so short D: I felt bad about not updating, and have been getting lovely comments that kind of kicked my butt into gear, so I squeezed this out real quick. <3  
> Oh, before anyone brings it up, no, I haven't read/seen The Cursed Child (not sure I ever will tbh). I saw a piece of fanart floating around on tumblr today that made me wonder if Albus is made Slytherin in it, but I'm not sure if that's canon. Bummer, cuz I almost went with sticking him in Slytherin, but I assumed that had probably been done to death (idk... I haven't read HP fanfics in years @_@;;). But anywho, yeah, this is... obviously going to go along as if TCC never happened in the grand old fan exercise of Ignoring Canon. XD;;


	6. Practice Makes Perfect

**~*Chapter 6*~**

**Practice Makes Perfect**

 

 

Scorpius's aggrieved sigh penetrated Al's concentration the next day in Potions class. “If I didn't know better, I'd think you were _trying_ to fail.”

Al sent his partner a sharp look, frozen in the act of tapping powdered wasp husks into his cauldron. After a moment's internal struggle, he decided not to go on the defensive. “Damn,” he deadpanned. “You caught me.”

Scorpius blinked, then turned his head away quickly to hide his face. “If you fail, I fail, remember?” he grumbled.

Al frowned. With so many students doing miserably in their potions, Zabini had once again laid down that dreaded rule. Should the students not swallow their pride and help their partners, he was promising to fail anyone whose partner did worse than themselves. With a sigh, Al set the tiny little glass bottle aside. “All right, smarty. Just tell me what I did wrong.”

“Where to start?”

Al managed to throttle the temptation to stamp on the boy's foot, but just barely. “Come on, Professor Malfoy, we both know you love showing off how great you are. Just get it over with.”

Scorpius finally deigned to look at him, and Al couldn't for the life of him decide if the boy's expression of lofty superiority was a joke or not. _Perhaps_ , he mused as Scorpius leaned over slightly to point out his error in the textbook, _it'll be easier to tolerate him if I pretend it was Andrew saying these things. Andrew would just be having a laugh; he wouldn't actually mean it._

“You were supposed to stir the contents fifteen times counter-clockwise before even thinking about adding the wasp.”

“I stirred it!”

“You sloshed the spoon around for maybe half a dozen turns, tops,” Scorpius said with a slight sneer. “Do you have trouble reading, or do you really just not care?”

Al shrugged, embarrassed. “I dunno. I guess I read it too fast.”

“You're impatient and you have the attention span of a fruit fly,” Scorpius corrected, handing him the spoon. “It's probably already ruined, but it'll be less horrible if you give it a few more stirs than if you give it too few.”

Al obediently stirred the goopey concoction until Scorpius motioned for him to stop. “Fine. _Now_ add the wasp. And for both our sakes, please just use the spoon. Quit trying to eyeball it.”

Al reached for the measuring spoon, sending Scorpius a quick look out of the corner of his eye. He'd never have admitted it out loud, but he'd been growing more and more careless in Potions lately because he hadn't seen the point. Without someone to help him, and running the very real risk of failing no matter what he did, he'd allowed his temper and hopelessness to make him apathetic. But if Scorpius was willing to help him, even begrudgingly, he didn't want to be the reason they both failed. He couldn't help but wonder if Scorpius was only helping now because his grade was on the line, or if it had something to do with their brief conversation in the library. He knew better than to ask, however, and followed Scorpius's instructions in silence for the rest of class.

As they waited for Zabini to do the rounds, they stared miserably into their cauldrons. Scorpius's was a sick-looking green color rather than the intended pale blue, and Albus's was even darker and gurgling ominously. “Maybe we'll do better tomorrow,” Albus said without much hope. “I mean, we've done it before. A couple times.”

Scorpius didn't answer. He was silent for several moments, watching Zabini go from desk to desk, berating each student who'd done less than perfect. Which, as it turned out, was everyone so far.

“Did you really not want to join the Quidditch team?” Scorpius murmured at last, with a note of disbelief.

Al took in a deep breath through his nose, reminding himself to remain cordial. “I didn't,” he affirmed, keeping his voice low as well. “But a lot of people didn't really want to take 'no' for an answer. Everyone just assumes since I'm a Potter, I should live on a broomstick.”

Scorpius gave him an odd look. “I thought your entire family loved that dumb sport.”

“We do. I just... I dunno. I love watching the game, and playing it for fun with my cousins is fine, but I don't want everyone in Gryffindor riding my back because I don't do fantastic in front of the whole school. James loves that kind of attention and competition. It just stresses me out.” He swallowed hard. “The first match is in two months, and I think I'm probably going to throw up the second I walk out onto the field.” He snapped his mouth shut quickly, humiliated at the unprompted honesty. That was not something Scorpius needed to know, and the thought that he'd just handed Scorpius more ammunition to use against him made him squirm.

But Scorpius only continued to peer at him in suspicion, as if sure Al was pulling his leg.

“What about you?” Al shot back. “Why do you hate Quidditch so much? _Your_ dad played too, remember?”

Scorpius looked away, pressing his lips tight together and refusing to answer.

Zabini strode up, hands clasped behind his back. He glanced from one cauldron to the other, his mouth already stretching in a sneer of disgust. “Perhaps the both of you should take a refresher course in remedial reading, since you obviously can't even follow simple instructions. Failed. Both of you.”

Al glared at the desk and clenched his teeth to hold back a retort. Scorpius began picking at a thread in his robes, his own dark look focused on his cauldron as if it were to blame.

Zabini moved on to berate the pair behind him, and both boys exchanged a weary look of defeat.

“Fine. Truce, Potter. My parents will lay into me if I don't pass this class.”

Al managed not to smile in triumph. “Truce, then. We'll pass this class if it kills us.”

Scorpius eyed the bubbling contents of Al's cauldron with a grimace. “It just might, at this rate.” He shot Al a dark look. “I heard Zabini starts making you test the potions in third year. We get this right by next year, or we're both going to be spending our days in the infirmary.”

 

~*~

 

As the weeks passed with frightening quickness, the day of the year's first Quidditch match grew closer and closer. Al became such a bundle of nerves that he had to fight down the urge to be sick before every practice, and anyone even mentioning brooms or Quidditch anywhere near him made him break out in a cold sweat.

“Right, that's it,” Vincent said one Saturday afternoon after he'd witnessed Al's sour reaction to the subject. “Get up and come with me.”

Al looked up at him blankly as the older boy rose, dusting off his robes with choppy, businesslike gestures. “What? Where are we going?”

Felicia trailed off in the middle of the discussion she was having with Rose. They were all eating snacks outside on the lawn, enjoying the sun while they could. Already there was a nip to the air that meant autumn was fast approaching.

Al glanced over at her; she and Rose were watching him with unusual interest. For some reason Al felt his ears get hot. He scrambled to his feet, trying to ignore the girls. Andrew, mouth stuffed with biscuit, lifted his hands in a silent demand for an explanation.

“We're going to the Quidditch pitch,” Vincent said firmly. “Maybe getting a little practice without your family and Lucas yelling down your ear will do you some good.”

Al perked up a little, hurrying to catch up as Vincent led the way down the hill. “That's a great idea. You don't mind?”

“Nah. I may be not be as competitive as your brother, but I'd still like to win our first game.” Vincent flashed him a quick smile over his shoulder. “You're lacking in confidence, Al, not skill. All these team practices _have_ made you a better flyer. You're just too uptight and unsure of yourself to really shine.”

Al glowed under the praise, then drew up short. He'd spotted a familiar skinny figure heading the opposite direction. It was difficult to catch Scorpius alone outside of class, and Al had no desire to approach him when he was surrounded by a band of suspicious Slytherins again. “Hang on a second. I'll be right back.”

He jogged over, waving his arm to flag the boy down. Scorpius saw him and came to a halt, watching his approach with his face pinched.

“What, Potter?” he snapped the second Al was in hearing range. His eyes darted towards the steps across the lawn where a handful of Slytherins were lounging in the sun, laughing and joking. They hadn't noticed him, yet. “This better be important.”

“Yeah, wouldn't want to interrupt all your super important Slytherin stuff,” Al panted, rummaging in his bag. “Here. I checked this out from the library. Someone's been hoarding it for ages. I remember my cousin Victoire saying it was a lot of help when she was in second or third year.”

Scorpius accepted the proffered book almost gingerly, staring at the cover and opening to a random page. “The name of the author sounds familiar.”

“Your parents probably mentioned him. He was a professor here.” Al hooked his bag back over his shoulder. “Dad never liked Potions much, but I remember him saying Professor Slughorn was a pretty decent teacher the year he came back to teach. Anyway, it's not nearly as dry and complicated as the textbook. I've been reading it the past week, and it's really helpful.” He waited for a long, meaningful moment before prompting, “You're welcome.”

“Um.” Scorpius sent another look towards the Slytherins. One or two of them were peering in their direction. He stuffed the book into his bag, not meeting Al's eyes. “Thanks,” he finally said, very grudgingly.

“You fail, I fail, right?” Al jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating Vincent waiting several yards away. “All right, well... Vincent's going to try to teach me how not to make a fool of myself at the game, so... see you.”

Scorpius looked over towards Vincent, but his face remained blank. “Whatever. Try not to fall off your broom, Potter.”

“Nice talking to you!” Al shouted sarcastically at his back as the boy hurried off. Shaking his head, he turned and ran back to Vincent.

“What was that all about?” Vincent asked, frowning at the retreating figure. “Isn't that Malfoy?”

“Yeah, we're partners in Potions. I just needed to talk to him about class, that's all.”

“I'm surprised you get along,” Vincent admitted, leading the way once more. “Our two Houses don't exactly... mesh. And I've heard from James about your family's history with his.”

His tone was a little _too_ casual. Al sighed. “And I suppose he's whined about Scorpius specifically.”

A smile hovered on Vincent's mouth. “He thinks you're too nice. Though so long as Malfoy doesn't pick a fight, I guess James will learn to get over it. Hey, maybe you'll even get matched with him in the Events.”

“I hope so,” Al admitted. “I can't think of any other Slytherins who I trust to have my back. Scorpius can be a prat, but he's not...”

“Malicious?”

“Yeah.” Al swallowed hard as they stepped onto the Quidditch pitch. “Even just coming here makes me wanna barf,” he complained. “This is ridiculous.”

“Don't worry, it's just me and you today. No one else to see or judge, okay?” Vincent stepped into the team tent and returned with a pair of brooms. “Lucas has the key to the lockbox with the Snitch and all that, so we'll just practice with this instead.” He took a chestnut from his pocket. “We'll just start out with a basic game of catch, all right? Like baseball. Ever played?”

Al stared at him blankly.

“Sorry. Muggle sport.”

“Are you muggle-born?” Al asked in surprise.

“My mother's a muggle. She didn't find out about Dad until right before I was born. I guess he got nervous about how I might turn out, and decided he'd better let the cat out of the bag.” He handed over one of the brooms. “Basically, I'll throw the chestnut, and you try and catch it before it falls. That way you don't have to worry about any other players or bludgers or anything else.” He held the chestnut up. “Just focus on this.”

It ended up being an excellent idea.

Vincent was patient and cheerful, and with no distractions, Al found it easier to concentrate. He stopped getting embarrassed about his misses after the first ten minutes when Vincent didn't start mocking him as James might have, and by the end of an hour he was catching it every time.

“Excellent,” Vincent crowed as Al nearly fell from his broom snatching the chestnut out of the air. “Of course, this will be harder with a Snitch. It'll be zipping all over the place like a demented bumblebee. But you just gotta learn to take a chance and trust your instincts. Stop tryin' to be your dad. You don't have the be the Best Seeker Ever. Just give us a chance to win.”

Al tossed him the chestnut, out of breath but smiling widely. “Thanks, Vincent.”

“Hey, no problem. I'm sure James would've thought of it sooner or later.”

Al snorted, landing with more grace than he had in awhile. “Yeah, well... we probably would've just ended up shouting at each other after fifteen minutes or so.”

“You know,” Vincent mused as they returned the brooms, “I guess it never occurred to me that it might actually kind of suck sometimes to be related to Harry Potter. I mean, James thrives on the attention, and he does well in the things people expect him to...”

“Like Quidditch and Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Al grumbled.

“Yeah. So it never bothered him. But I can tell it bothers you.” They began making their way back up the hill towards the castle. “I guess it's lucky you're not the oldest. James is the one who has to live up to all the expectations. You can just be yourself. And I guess it's best to get that through everyone's heads now, while you're still a kid. I think eventually James is gonna feel some of what you feel now. He's gonna keep trying to live up to his name, and it's gonna stress him out.”

Al fell silent, a little surprised by the boy's insight. Sometimes it was easy to forget Vincent was only a year older than he. Especially considering how much more mature Vincent was than some of his peers-- James in particular. “Yeah,” he finally agreed. “I guess you're right. But that means that I probably won't stick with Quidditch. I mean... if I get pretty good at it and I end up having a good time, okay. But I won't let people bully me into it again just because everyone thinks I should, just like every other Potter.”

Vincent clapped him on the shoulder. “You're gonna be fine. Don't let everyone's expectations get you down. Soon enough you'll just be Albus; they'll back off.”

“I'm sure James will be so busy hogging the spotlight it'll be easy to fade into the background,” Al said with a grin.

“Good thing you're the cautious one,” Vincent chuckled. “Half your dad's reputation came from getting himself mixed up in all kinds of trouble at school, right? So you just keep your head down and let James get all the Howlers.”

“I'm not going to go looking for trouble,” Al said firmly. “This IC... IHCE thing will probably be the most exciting thing I do at Hogwarts, and I'm okay with that.”

“Famous last words,” Vincent teased.

Al didn't respond, hoping fervently he was wrong.

It wouldn't occur to him until much later that the simple act of trying to befriend a Slytherin may have already set him on the path towards trouble.

 

 


	7. Free Falling

**~*Chapter 7*~**

**Free Falling**

 

 

The day of the first Quidditch match, Al felt like he was going to fall apart at any given moment.

He sat staring at his lunch, his stomach far too uptight to even consider attempting to eat. Felicia managed to coax some water down him, but he closed his eyes and turned his head away queasily when she tried to nudge his plate closer.

Felicia and Andrew exchanged a nervous look. Further down the table, a clump of other Gryffindor players, including James and Vincent, were already working themselves up into a rowdy mob.

“Hufflepuff seems pretty relaxed about it for the most part, at least,” Felicia pointed out, glancing towards the other House's table. “Gryffindor sure gets excited about a dumb game.”

“I can't believe we're friends sometimes,” Andrew informed her solemnly. He gave Al an encouraging slap on the back that made him jump as if he'd been electrocuted. “C'mon, Al! Cheer up! You'll be fine. You said all that extra practice with Vincent was really helping, right? You've gotta stop worrying so much.”

“Yeah. Just a game. I'll be fine,” Al mumbled, only half aware of what he was saying. He rose to his feet abruptly. “I've gotta use the bathroom.”

“Be quick, Al,” Felicia warned. “They can't exactly start without you, and everyone's heading to the field in ten minutes...”

Al waved his hand in compliance, already leaving.

He was relieved to find the first floor bathroom empty, and clung to a sink as if he needed it to hold himself up, staring bleakly at his reflection. How had he let anyone talk him into this? He would pay five hundred galleons just to be a happy spectator today instead of an active participant. The only good thing about this whole mess was that they were playing against Hufflepuff, who would at least be fair players and display excellent sportsmanship, as they always did. James and the others would find losing to them embarrassing, but not as devastating as a loss against Slytherin. He hoped.

The door creaked open, and he hastily turned on the water, trying to make it look like he was just washing his hands.

Footsteps approached and then stopped, and he could practically feel someone hovering just a few feet behind him. He kept his eyes lowered, watching his own hands methodically rub back and forth under the freezing water.

“Did you throw up?”

Al jerked his gaze up in surprised recognition, finding the other boy's eyes in the mirror. Scorpius was looking at him with a slight frown of distaste.

“No,” he snapped, twisting the water tap fiercely to stop the flow. He took a deep breath. “Thinking about it,” he admitted in weary defeat.

Scorpius eyed him with borderline suspicion. “Why are you really so nervous about this? Is it really the game that bothers you, or flying?”

“What?” Al turned to regard him in confusion. “I've gotten much better at flying,” he insisted. “I'm not on James's level, maybe, but I'm all right. All that practice did help. I meant what I said before. I really don't want to make a fool of myself in front of the whole school.” He ran a hand over his face before he remembered it was still wet, and hastily wiped his hands off on the front of his robes. “Well, at least I don't have to worry about _you_ seeing me miss the Snitch over and over. You're not going, right?”

Scorpius shook his head once.

“I still don't get why you hate Quidditch so much. I figured your dad would have tried to nag you into joining the team.”

Scorpius's mouth pulled down sharply. “He did.”

“And?”

“And I said no, obviously. Something you seem to have trouble with.”

Al bristled, but before he could respond, the door slammed open. James, Roxanne, Fred, and Vincent came pouring in, whooping and shouting.

“There he is! C'mon, Seeker, it's time to kick Hufflepuff's butt!” James cheered. He came to an abrupt halt when he realized whom Al had been speaking to. “Get lost, Malfoy.”

“Lay off, James,” Al said, annoyed. “We were just talking.”

Scorpius shot James an unfriendly look, but didn't say anything as he stormed out of the bathroom.

James seized his brother in a headlock, hauling him towards the door. “You ready, Al? Ready to dazzle everyone and win us the game?”

“Let go,” Al complained, struggling to free himself. “And stop making me more nervous about this than I already am. I hope I puke all over your robes.”

Ignoring his complaining and protests, they hustled him out of the castle and down the hill towards the Quidditch pitch. A few other students trailed after them; soon the whole school would be pouring into the stands to watch Al make a fool of himself.

Swallowing back a sour taste in the back of his mouth, Al tried to remind himself that it was quite possible that they could win the game even if he didn't catch the Snitch.

As if reading his mind, James elbowed him, directing his attention towards the grey sky. “Look, it'll take forever to finish the game without the Snitch, okay? I heard the Hufflepuff Seeker's not that great, so I'm not too worried about him getting it first. But we need this game to end kinda quick. I don't fancy getting caught out in a storm. So keep your eyes peeled and show everyone Potters make the best Seekers.”

“I will barf on you,” Al reminded him darkly.

“Just remember everything we went over in practice,” Vincent said soothingly. “You'll do fine. Don't worry about the rest of us, just keep an eye open for that Snitch. You got good in our catch sessions; you'll do fine if you just relax.”

“Catch sessions?” Roxanne repeated blankly.

“I've been taking him out to practice where you ninnies can't harass him,” Vincent explained. “He does better when certain people aren't laying on the pressure.” He offered James a significant look that went completely ignored.

“Great! So with that much practice, you'll blow Hufflepuff out of the water. You'll see, Al. Winning Quidditch is one of the best feelings in the world.”

“You need more hobbies,” Al muttered, ducking into the team's tent ahead of his brother.

Fred overheard him. “Quidditch isn't a hobby! It's a lifestyle!” He and his sister started laughing, but James looked like he actually agreed with the sentiment, his face flushed with the pre-game excitement.

Al found his broom and sank onto a bench, clutching it like a lifeline. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”

No one paid any attention; the rest of the team was trickling in, and everyone was shouting last-minute advice, threats, and encouragement to each other. Lucas kept bellowing reminders at everyone, especially the new members. The alternates were seated on a bench, eyeing everyone a little shrewdly. _Probably hoping one of us catches a bludger to the head so they can step in_ , Al thought with a wince. Olivia was a Chaser alternate, but she could also step in as Seeker if needed. He found himself almost hoping he'd get injured so she could take over.

“Potter!” Al jumped as the Captain turned on him sharply. “Make sure you don't catch the Snitch _too_ early. I don't want a boring five minute game, got it?”

Al nodded mutely.

“And Fred, remember not to attack the Keeper. I mean it. I don't care how much of a twit you think he is. You get us a penalty, and _I'll_ hit a bludger at you.”

“Bet I won't be hearing that threat when we play against Slytherin,” Fred teased.

Lucas hesitated, but declined to comment. It was fairly well-known throughout the school that he and the Slytherin Keeper had a healthy dislike for each other that supposedly went all the way back to their third year. Rumor was he'd been dumb enough to goose her in the hallway to get a laugh, and she'd broken his nose. Al secretly thought her animosity, at least, was understandable. Al had never seen her, only heard the usual jokes about their rivalry, but he was willing to bet she'd been one of the first Slytherins Lucas had made sure got jinxed during the fifth House's reign. He swallowed nervously. The game against Slytherin was probably going to be a particularly nasty one.

Outside, the sound of many voices was growing louder as the rest of the students filed into their seats.

“Professor Chang is heading for the middle of the field,” Roxanne said, peeking through the tent flap. “Guess we should get out there.”

“ _Accio_ bucket,” Lucas snapped.

A nearby bucket soared across the room and slammed onto the ground at Al's feet just as he bent double and heaved. There was a chorus of startled “Eww”s from the other players.

“Pull yourself together, Potter,” Lucas scolded. “First game jitters are normal. Don't let them grow into full-blown panic.”

Humiliated, Al straightened, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. He had a feeling he was never going to live this down. James looked like he was struggling not to laugh. Vincent's constant elbows to the ribs kept him quiet every time he opened his mouth. Fred was laughing silently, head turned away and shoulders shaking, but Roxanne stamped on his foot hard and hustled him out of the tent.

“Ok, Gryffindor, let's go!” Lucas boomed, and led the rest of them outside. Al took two quick gulping breaths and stumbled after them, cursing anyone who'd ever so much as suggested he go to Quidditch tryouts in the first place.

_I bet Dad never puked before a game_ , he thought sourly, keeping his eyes glued to Professor Chang as she did a brief speech on sportsmanship. He couldn't bring himself to look up at the crowd and pick out his friends. Just the weight of the stares of all of the student body and the almost deafening noise of their shouts and cheers was almost too much.  _They're not all staring at you. Relax._ He tried to imagine the crowd simply wasn't there, but it was impossible. Instead, he resolved to not look towards the stands once if he could manage it.

Professor Chang gave a sharp whistle, and both teams mounted and soared upwards. As the wind whipped his hair and robes during his hasty ascent, Al found his eyes lifting towards the darkened clouds overhead. Somewhere in the distance there was a low rumble of thunder. He shuddered, trying to imagine bumbling about on a broom during a storm. James was right; they were going to have to try and end the game quickly, despite Lucas's admonitions.

Something gold flashed by, jerking his attention back to the present. The Snitch had been released. A moment later there was another sharp whistle and the quaffle was sent soaring into the air. Al remembered to shoot higher into the air and get out of the way just in the nick of time; Vincent nearly collided head-on with one of Hufflepuff's Chasers as both teams shot towards the center of the field to claim the quaffle.

Vincent had the longer reach; he managed to snatch the quaffle first, and tucked it under his arm, shooting across the field towards the goal.

_Never mind them_ , Al reminded himself, forcibly dragging his eyes away from the game. The Hufflepuff Seeker was circling high up overhead, head turning back and forth. Al looked around carefully, trying to detect a glint of gold. With a groan he realized the other difficulty that an overcast sky provided: the sun wouldn't be able to flash against the Snitch and give it away. Thanking his lucky stars that he hadn't inherited his father's poor eyesight, he began circling the field, eyes scanning left and right. He found that putting all his attention into searching for the Snitch made it a little easier to ignore the roaring crowd, though it was hard to keep his attention off the game. He was too used to being a spectator not to want to watch how his team was doing, and it was hard to tune out Louis's excited game commentary.

“Look out!”

Roxanne's shout made him do an instinctive dive, and he felt the wind of a bludger flashing past, narrowly missing his arm.

James went belting after it, and batted the bludger away. “Go higher!” he shouted over the crowd's cheers. “Keep an eye out for the Snitch and let me worry about the other Beaters.”

Al nodded mutely, heart thumping, and climbed higher into the sky. There was another ominous rumble of thunder, closer this time.

He began looking for the Snitch in earnest, always watching the Hufflepuff Seeker out of the corner of his eye. During one of his circles of the field, he happened to glance towards the Forbidden Forest out of habit. He'd looked that way often during his practices with Vincent, hoping to catch another glimpse of the strange creature he'd seen from the tower window.

Something was making the trees move again, and it wasn't the wind.

He was so startled he came to a full stop, focusing all his attention on the forest. Something was definitely moving down there, making its way through the forest and shaking the treetops with its passing. Thunder boomed directly overhead, making him flinch. Slowly it began to rain.

Belatedly he became aware of Hufflepuff's Seeker. The older boy had flown over to investigate, thinking Al had seen the Snitch. Now his wide eyes were also glued on the forest. Peter, Al remembered. His name was Peter; Al had seen him hanging out with Louis once or twice in the halls between classes.

“What is it?”

Al shook his head. “I dunno. Something  _big_ .”

“A giant?”

Al opened his mouth to respond, but Lucas's enraged squawk made him nearly fall off his broom.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, POTTER?? GET IT, GET IT!!”

Al looked around desperately, but Lucas's shout had alerted Peter as well. And judging by his abrupt dive, he'd spotted what Al had missed.

Swallowing a curse, Al shot after him. He could see the Snitch now, plummeting downwards as if determined to hit the ground and bury itself out of reach. Logically Al knew that wouldn't happen; the Snitch's charm would keep it airborne. But as the ground rose rapidly to meet them, both he and Peter slowed down slightly to prevent a crash landing.

Peter reached out, trying desperately to reach the Snitch before it could pick another direction to zip off to.

There was no possible way Al could catch up in time to stop him. Peter was simply a faster flyer. The Snitch was out of Peter's reach, but not by more than a foot or two. They were going to lose the first game of the season, and it would be all Al's fault. His brother and cousins would never let him live it down. Lucas would kick him off the team. Vincent would be disappointed.

Overcome by desperation and panic, Al did the one thing he could think of. He released his grip on his broom and let himself topple off, free falling the last few feet. Peter jerked aside with a startled cry to avoid him, and Al felt the Snitch smack into his outstretched palm an instant before he hit the ground hard enough to knock the air from his lungs and sent bright stars bursting in his vision. He rolled clumsily in the wet grass, the world a whirling mess of pain and confusion.

The pain was so sudden and so overwhelming, he blacked out for a moment.

When he came to, it took a few moments for the ringing in his ears to abate enough to let the roar of the crowd filter in. Someone was shouting his name, and though his whole body felt almost numb, he thought someone was shaking him roughly. Rain was soaking his robes and pattering on his bruised face.

With a groan, he forced his eyes open, vision swimming. Both teams had landed and crowded around him, and James was kneeling beside him, shaking him back and forth with a look of panic stamped on his face. The second he saw Al's eyes open, he gave a ragged cheer, seized Al's wrist, and jerked his hand into the air. It wasn't until then that Al realized he'd managed to retain his deathgrip on the Snitch; he could see its wings fluttering weakly between his fingers.

The students in the bleachers went wild, and Al felt his mouth pull in a painful grin despite himself.

“You're mad!” James kept shouting over and over. Vincent leaned over and helped him lift Al into a sitting position.

Al's vision wavered towards darkness again briefly, but he closed his eyes tightly and waited for his nausea to pass. He was suddenly acutely aware of how much he hurt. He began hesitantly flexing his fingers and toes, and let out a sigh of relief when his limbs responded. It was a miracle nothing had broken.

“Cushioning spell,” Lucas said, grinning from ear to ear as he watched Al patting himself over, looking for injuries. “The previous Headmaster covered the whole field in it almost a decade ago. Too many Quidditch players kept falling off their brooms and getting hurt.” He laughed happily. “Not sure how many have ever fallen off _intentionally_ , mind you.”

Al made a mental note to hug Minerva McGonagall if she dropped by the Potter house for Christmas.

“You crazy little goblin!” James grabbed his shoulders and gave him a shake. “Mum would have hung me from the rafters if you got killed in Quidditch, y'know that?”

Professor Chang pushed her way through the players, followed by the school matron. “Move aside, students, give him some air. Let Madam Greene see to him.”

“You Potters are all crazy,” Lucas declared proudly. “Knew I wouldn't regret signing you onto the team!”

As the nurse poked and prodded at him, Al finally allowed himself to look towards the crowd, scanning the cheering Gryffindors. He spotted his friends after only a few moments; Andrew was jumping up and down in place, mouth open in a yell, and Felicia was waving wildly to get his attention. He grinned up at them and offered a thumbs up.

For a moment, he could almost understand why his brother was so infatuated with the game. The pressure before a game might be awful, but the acclaim when you won... Well, that might actually be worth a battered body after all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Wow apparently I drank bleach one day and killed some brain cells. I kept thinking there are more people on a Quidditch team then there actually are, and put Olivia as a Chaser instead of Roxanne. I had to go back and edit that in a previous chapter and make Olivia an alternate, hence Roxanne suddenly being the other Chaser during this game. Good grief. Sorry D:


	8. Disarmed

**~*Chapter 8*~**

**Disarmed**

 

 

Despite the fact that he had no broken bones, Madam Greene had insisted on sending Al to the infirmary so she could keep an eye on him for a couple of hours.

“You blacked out,” she'd said as she practically pushed him onto a cot. “Head injuries are no joke. Drink this tonic, and if you're feeling yourself again, you can leave when I come check in on you.”

It hadn't taken long for a little cluster of enthusiastic Gryffindors to find him and crowd around his bed. Al felt a bit like a celebrity.

“You're mental. Absolutely mental,” Andrew said, grinning from ear to ear. “I thought for sure you fell off on accident at first. Did y'really do that on purpose?”

Al shrugged, grinning back. “I figured I could fall faster than he could fly. Anyway, he was braking so he wouldn't hit the ground, so that helped.”

“You're lucky you didn't break your neck,” Felicia scolded, plumping up his pillow fussily. Her eyes were suspiciously red and puffy.

“She near had a heart attack when you hit the ground,” Andrew laughed. “You should've heard her scream. Then she just kinda burst into tears, she was so sure you were dead--”

Felicia shoved him roughly, her face screwing up. “Well he'd have _been_ dead, wouldn't he, if there wasn't that cushioning spell on the field!”

“Potters are crazy,” Lucas said in an admiring tone for what felt like the tenth time.

“It's why we're so good,” James boasted. “Didn't I tell ya it'd be worth givin' him a chance?” He tossed his brother the Snitch. “Look, you bent its wings so bad we can't even use this one anymore. You were gripping that thing like your life depended on it.”

“That was an awful big risk, Al,” Vincent said somberly. “I hope you don't plan on jumping off your broom every game.”

“Yeah, they'll know to expect that trick,” Fred snickered.

Roxanne rolled her eyes at him. “Our cousin almost dies, and you're worried about tactics.”

Fred shrugged, unconcerned. “Hey, he's part Weasley. Weasleys are tough.”

“Yeah, like cockroaches,” James muttered, and ducked when Fred took a swipe at him.

The door banged open, and Rose and Molly came hurrying in, robes still soaked from the rain.

“Oh, Al!” Rose went to hug him, then hesitated. “Does it hurt?”

“Not much. I'm just a bit banged up. Madam Greene says I can leave in an hour or so, as soon as this tonic's done its work.” Al smiled at her reassuringly.

“You're so stupid!” Rose shouted suddenly, startling him. “Don't ever do anything like that again! All for a game! Why are boys so _stupid_?” She looked like she was about to burst into tears. Al threw his brother a frantic look. James shrugged helplessly.

“Calm down, Rose, you can lecture him later,” Molly said, ruffling her cousin's hair. “Besides, save it for his folks. I'm sure Aunt Ginny is going to give him an earful when she hears about this. _She_ was never dumb enough to go jumping off any fast-moving brooms.”

Al scowled weakly. He was beginning to feel less like a celebrity. It figured the girls would have to ruin it for him.

“Al won't do anything that dumb again,” Vincent said. “Right, Al?” He sent the younger boy a slightly admonishing look.

Al frowned back. _Traitor._

“He was brilliant,” Lucas scoffed, waving off their concerns. “But yeah, I'd like my Seeker not to get himself killed before the last game, all right?”

“You're all heart, Lucas,” Roxanne drawled.

Madam Greene came bustling over, looking harried. “All right, all right, enough. This is supposed to be a quiet room! Out, all of you. Don't you have classes to attend?”

“We need to get to Charms, Rose,” Felicia said, giving Al's pillow one more pat. “We'll tell the Professor you might not make it, Al.”

They trickled out, calling their goodbyes. Al settled back against his pillow, unwrapping the chocolate frog Fred had brought him. He would have to get some more practice in with Vincent, he mused, inspecting the card that had come with the frog. He couldn't expect to save the day with insane stunts every game. And Hufflepuff's Seeker wasn't even that great. The Ravenclaw Seeker was said to be the best the school had seen in years, and he knew the Slytherin Seeker had a reputation for playing dirty.

As he went over the game in his head, he remembered the incident that had almost cost them the game. His eyes wandered towards the window, but he couldn't see much from his cot.

He wasn't crazy. That thing he'd seen moving in the forest, Peter had seen it, too. Maybe he should ask Hagrid about it next time he visited the man for tea.

He reached up to rub at his head. With the excitement over with and his friends no longer around to distract him, he was becoming aware of just how much his head hurt and how bruised his body felt. The tonic was making him sleepy, so he tossed the frog's wrapper onto the bedside table and curled up under the blankets. Bruised or not, it felt nice to be a Quidditch hero, he thought, smiling to himself as he drifted off. His parents might scold him for the risk he'd taken, but surely they'd be pleased. His father especially.

 

~*~

 

An odd crinkling noise roused him from his nap some time later.

Rolling over, he noted that his headache was gone, and the rest of him no longer felt like he'd gone bouncing down a rocky hill.

He had another visitor. Only one, this time.

“Scorpius?”

The other boy, who'd been digging through the frog's wrapper for the card, jumped guiltily.

Al propped himself up on his elbow, staring at him in blank surprise. “What're you doing in here? Did... did you come here to see me?”

“What? No.” Scorpius gave him a haughty look, gesturing towards the other end of the room. “I came up to drop off Theo's Potions assignment.”

Al followed the gesture with his eyes, to where another patient was huddled under the blankets in the far corner. He'd barely even noticed the boy's presence.

“He tried to grow his hair out a little and it kind of backfired.” Scorpius's hand made a half-hearted move towards the wrapper again, then dropped. “I heard you tried to kill yourself in today's game.”

“Disappointed it didn't take?”

Scorpius turned his head aside. “Yeah.”

Al grinned. He was beginning to strongly suspect Scorpius always looked away to hide a smile he wasn't able to suppress. He sat up against the headboard, reaching out and digging the chocolate frog card out of the wrapper. He inspected it for a moment. The sour beak-nosed face of Severus Snape glared out at him. “You collect these?”

Scorpius shrugged, looking a little defensive.

Al offered the card. “I've already got plenty of him. You can have it.”

Scorpius hesitated, then took the card. He stared down at the tiny moving picture for a long moment. “You're named after him, aren't you?”

“Yeah.” Al began picking distractedly at the wrapper. “James says Dad must've been barmy, naming me after him.”

“Don't like sharing the name of a Slytherin?” Scorpius sneered.

Al stared at him. “Severus Snape may have been a hero, in his way, but you've got to admit he was a jerk. And kind of a creep.” He frowned. “Or maybe that's a side of him the Malfoys don't talk about.”

Scorpius tossed the card onto the nightstand, shoulders stiff. “I've got five of him already anyway.” He turned and strode from the room.

Al opened his mouth to call him back, then stopped himself. Hadn't Scorpius come to see the other patient? Maybe he was so irritated he didn't want to stick around any longer.

“Git,” he muttered, more weary than angry. He lay back down, but after staring at the ceiling for twenty minutes, he sighed and sat back up. He was no longer tired, and anyway, all his aches and pains seemed to be gone.

He slipped out of bed and reached for his robe, suddenly itching to be out of the med bay. Without anyone to talk to, it was boring just lying around.

Madam Greene came bustling out of her back office just then, and spotted him. “Ah, feeling better, are we? Good, you should be in class. You missed one, but you shouldn't be too late for your fifth one. Come straight back here if you feel woozy at all.”

Al thanked her, retrieved his bag from where Felicia had helpfully left it in a nearby chair, and hurried out. He slowed his steps as he wandered the halls, quite willing to miss as much of class as possible. His fifth class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, and there were two annoyances there. Professor Macmillan constantly expected him to live up to his brother's and father's examples, and he had a bad habit of putting Al on the spot.

Also, it was the one other class besides Potions that he shared with Slytherin.

Macmillan wasn't fussy about who sat where, so Al had always been able to claim a seat with Felicia or Andrew, and had actually had little interaction with Scorpius during that class. But unlike Al, Scorpius was doing pretty well in DADA, and never missed an opportunity to volunteer an answer Al didn't know. It got irritating, especially since he suspected Scorpius did it to prove how dense Al was to the rest of the class. He could ignore it, sometimes, but on days like today when he found himself annoyed with the other boy, it only helped anger him further.

He realized he'd reached Professor Macmillan's classroom door, and there was no more stalling. It occurred to him belatedly that in his absence, Andrew and Felicia had likely sat together. Who was he going to sit with?

He pulled the door open and slipped inside, hoping to go unnoticed.

There was a squeal and a bang, and Al leapt nearly a foot in the air.

It took him a moment of panicked confusion to realize the noise had nothing to do with his entrance; in fact, no one was even looking towards the door. The desks had all been pushed to either side of the room to clear a space in the middle of the floor, and the students were standing crowded near the doorway, watching the two figures facing each other in the cleared area.

To the right, nearly cringing against the wall, was Felicia. Her wand was upheld in her shaking hand, her eyes very wide. On the opposite side of the room, a scrawny Slytherin girl was picking herself painfully up off the floor.

“Excellent!” Professor Macmillan boomed, stepping forward and retrieving the Slytherin's wand from where it had rolled under a desk. “Very good, Miss Baker, if a bit overenthusiastic. The goal is to disarm, not knock down your opponent. At least not in class.”

“About time she got something right,” a Gryffindor near Al muttered to his friend, who chuckled.

Al elbowed his way past them a bit more roughly than necessary, getting closer to the front of the crowd.

He was glad now that he'd decided to attend class after all. It looked like the Professor was finally going to be teaching them actual spells instead of just information and theory. After his first year spent memorizing endless lists of facts about werewolves, vampires, brownies, and other assorted mystical creatures, he was eager to see if his skill in Charms might extend to casting defensive spells as well. And if there was any spell he could have chosen to start out with, this was definitely the one. Not only because of its usefulness, but because it had been his father's go-to spell.

In fact, he realized, it might be why Macmillan had chosen it. He would obviously be fully aware of the fact that Harry Potter had favored the _Expelliarmus_ spell, and was hoping Al would finally be able to prove himself in class. The realization made his eagerness die down almost immediately. He hated it when Macmillan put him on the spot, and this would be even worse than usual. If he couldn't do this spell right away, as his father had been able to... He tried to back away to melt back into the crowd, but a Slytherin behind him gave him a hard shove when he accidentally stepped on her toes.

Macmillan glanced over and spotted him as he stumbled forward. “Ah! There you are, Mr. Potter. Didn't see you come in. Come on, step forward. Have a go. You know, your father was famous for using this spell on You Kno-- er, Lord Voldemort himself.”

“Yeah,” Al muttered, avoiding looking at anyone as he reluctantly stepped into the makeshift arena.

“Very good, Miss Baker, nice reaction time,” Macmillan said, clapping Felicia on the shoulder and motioning for her to rejoin the crowd. “Just need to work on your focus.” Beaming, Felicia flashed Al a thumbs up and ran to stand next to Andrew. Macmillan turned an inviting smile on the rest of the class. “Right, any volunteers?”

Al stood awkwardly on his side of the room, fiddling with his wand. No hands went up. A few of the kids were looking at him thoughtfully, almost warily. _It's not like Dad tutored me in the stupid spell or anything_ , Al thought with brief annoyance. _I'm not him!_

He was willing to bet James had done fabulously his first time with the spell. He sighed internally, wishing he'd just stayed in the infirmary.

Andrew raised his hand, and Al smiled at him in relief. At least if Andrew disarmed him, it wouldn't be as humiliating. But before Andrew could speak up, a girl shoved her way past him and stomped over to the other side of the room. She spun on her heel to face Al, a malicious gleam in her eye. Al's heart sank.

He grasped for a name, but came up blank. But he knew her face. This was the girl he'd seen hanging around Scorpius a few times. The one who'd gotten her arm broken as a result of one of the Fifth House's jinxes the previous year. She had an understandable loathing for several of the Potter children because of it, and it seemed she'd decided to add Al to her hit list simply because he was in the same grade as herself and thus a more readily available target.

“Right, then.” Macmillian twitched his wand in demonstration. “Make sure you _mean_ it. And pronunciation is key. Wands at the ready. Who wants to go fir--?”

The girl practically lunged forward, jabbing her wand in Al's direction. “ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

Al's wand flew out of his hand and he stumbled backwards as something hard and unseen bowled into him like a furious gust of wind that nearly drove the breath from his body. He lost his balance and fell hard on his backside, nearly bruising his tailbone. Several students-- especially Slytherins –laughed uproariously.

“Focus, focus!” Macmillan shouted over the commotion. “You must direct your intent, your focus, your _force_ at the _wand,_ not the bearer. It is an elegant disarming technique, not an attack. Come! On your feet, Al. Show us how it's done.”

“No pressure,” Al muttered, gritting his teeth as he got to his feet. He retrieved his wand and took a deep breath in an attempt to push back his temper. He glowered at the girl, who was smirking tauntingly at him. He raised his wand slightly, and a wary look crossed her face.

Al hesitated. He'd like nothing more than to send her crashing into the wall, but that would only make things worse. Besides that, knocking over one's opponent was an easy beginner mistake. He concentrated, trying to focus all of his willpower on the girl's wand, not the girl herself. He stabbed his wand in the general direction of her hand.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

Her wand snatched itself out of her hand and sailed across the room to clatter to the floor between them. Al was exultant. He'd gotten it right his first time. Perhaps he would do all right in DADA after all.

“Excellent, Potter!” Macmillan crowed, clapping loudly. The Gryffindor students cheered. Al couldn't quite hold back his triumphant grin when his opponent scowled at him openly. “With a bit more concentration and finesse, you'll have their wands flying into your hand. Right, good job, Mr. Potter, Miss Engelton. Who's next?”

Al returned to the crowd of students, wedging himself in between Felicia and Andrew, who clapped him on the back in congratulations.

“Brilliant, Al,” Andrew said, grinning fit to burst. “Did y'see Evaine's face? Hah!”

So that was her name. Evaine Engelton. Al stored the information away. As he watched her stomp over to join her friends, glaring at him the whole way, he sensed it'd be a name he'd do well to remember.

“I thought she wouldn't take it so hard if I didn't knock her over.”

Andrew laughed. “Yeah right. Now you just proved that you're better than her.”

Al cringed.

“Who's next, who's next?” Macmillan asked, spreading his hands wide. “We have just enough time for one more demonstration. Ah, Mr. Heathcliffe. How about you?”

“Aw, great,” Andrew grumbled, but pulled his wand out of his robes and stepped forward.

Macmillian scanned the students, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Several of them tried hard to avoid eye contact. “And... hm, let's see.... Mr. Malfoy! Come out and give it a try.”

Al tensed.

Scorpius slowly stepped out onto his side of the room, wand hanging by his side, expression unreadable.

This was the only class Al shared with Scorpius where he might get an idea of how the other boy was at casting spells. And if he wanted to be paired with him in the Events, he needed to know what to expect. If Scorpius was no good, it'd be best to learn not to expect much from him.

But then again, he remembered, Scorpius was supposedly doing quite well in Transfiguration, which was a very tricky class.

“All right, Mr. Heathcliffe, you first,” Macmillan said. “Remember to focus.”

Andrew nodded, looking nervous. He clearly didn't like performing in front of the whole class. He raised his wand and gave it a weird wiggle-jab. “ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

Scorpius's wand jerked, but he managed to hang onto it.

Andrew flushed as some of the Slytherins began snickering loudly.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” he shouted again before Macmillan could say anything.

This time Scorpius staggered backwards and hit the wall with a grunt. But he still kept a tight grip on his wand, though it pulled his hand up a bit in a half-hearted attempt to escape.

“All right, all right, now the key here--” Macmillan started to say hastily.

Andrew was beet red and fuming. He raised his wand again and opened his mouth-- but Scorpius was quicker.

He swept his wand up in a quick thrust. “ _Expelliarmus_!” he snarled.

Andrew stumbled forward a bit, caught off guard with the sudden jerk of his wand flying from his hand. It soared across the room and landed near Scorpius's foot.

The Slytherins cheered.

“Whoa,” Felicia murmured, tugging nervously on her braids. “He's pretty good.”

“Yeah.” Al felt conflicted. He was glad that someone he hoped to have on his team was obviously competent with a wand, but felt bad for Andrew, who was still red in the face and standing foolishly empty-handed.

“Excellent, Mr. Malfoy,” Macmillan praised. “And since both you and Mr. Potter performed so well, that's five points to both your Houses. Chin up, Andrew. All you need is some practice.” He clapped his hands in an attempt to regain order. “All right, class, that's all the time we have for today. Remember, no practicing spells in the hallways. We'll have a refresher on this spell tomorrow. For homework, I want an essay on at least three wizards from history who used this spell to great effect.” He tipped a wink Al's way. Al managed not to roll his eyes, but only just. Harry Potter was guaranteed to be mentioned in every student's essay. “Class dismissed.”

“Don't worry about it, Andrew,” Al tried to soothe his friend as they filed out of the classroom. “It was your first try--”

“You did all right on _your_ first go,” Andrew snapped, hands stuffed in his pockets and face lowered to avoid eye contact with everyone. “Even Felicia managed to knock her opponent's wand out of her hand.”

Felicia bristled. “What d'you mean _even_ Felicia?”

“Forget it.” Throwing the two of them a resentful look, Andrew stormed off.

Felicia watched him go, mouth open helplessly. After a moment she stamped her foot. “Boys!” she huffed.

“Hey.”

“Sorry, Al. It's just... well, he didn't need to take it out on _us_ just because his pride got hurt.”

Al shrugged. “He'll get over it. I'll help him practice tonight in the common room. That'll give him some confidence.”

“Help me, too,” Felicia said quickly.

“Ohh~ Albus Potter's giving private lessons,” someone said in a mocking sing-song voice. “Sign me up!”

Al turned to glare at Evaine, who was laughing with her friends. Scorpius, he noted, was with her. He wasn't laughing, but he wasn't saying anything to stop them, either.

“Sure; you could use the practice, Evaine,” Al snapped before he could stop himself. He heard Felicia give a strangled little gasp.

Evaine's face flushed, and she glared at him. “Better watch your back, Potter.”

“Al, let's _go_ ,” Felicia hissed, pulling on his arm. He turned his back on the group, trying hard to ignore their jeering taunts as he hurried off down the hall.

He could have kicked himself. If Evaine had disliked him before, she definitely hated him now. He'd grown up hearing stories of his father's rivalry with Draco Malfoy, and had promised himself he'd never antagonize anyone enough to make an enemy out of them. He didn't think he'd be able to stand some of the humiliations his father had gone through.

But apparently, he thought with regret, sarcastic comebacks ran in the family as deeply as any affinity for certain spells.

 


	9. Ripple Effect

**~*Chapter 9*~**

**Ripple Effect**

 

 

The glow of their win against Hufflepuff was just beginning to fade when the next game was announced.

Vincent was the one to deliver the news during lunch, not even two weeks after their first game. “Already?” Al's voice sounded a little strangled. Suddenly all the nerves he'd suffered through in the weeks before the first game came flooding back, making his food taste sour in his mouth. He put down his fork. “Isn't that a little quick?”

Vincent shrugged, reaching out to steal one of Al's potatoes. “Relax, Al. It's Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff. Then Ravenclaw versus Slytherin. We won't be playing again until right before the winter break.” He frowned slightly. “And we'll be facing Slytherin, so watch your back.” He popped a piece of potato in his mouth, giving a careless shrug. “That gives you plenty of time to practice. Don't worry about it.”

Al, who'd been sagging with relief at the news that he wouldn't be playing again for awhile, sat up ramrod straight in alarm. The rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor always showed itself most viciously during Quidditch games. And now with lingering unfriendly feelings after last year's fifth House debacle, it would be a miracle if there weren't broken bones and bloody noses by the end of this year's match.

“We'll have two more games right after the holidays,” Vincent continued, “probably real close together, to make time for the Inter-House Whatsitcalled. But you can practice with your family during the break. You'll be fine. Really.”

“Yeah,” Al mumbled, barely listening. Their match against Slytherin seemed far away now-- two months at least. But he knew that he'd be working himself into a fine panic weeks in advance. “Will you still practice Catch with me sometimes?” he asked, feeling a little pathetic.

Vincent grinned. “Of course.”

“You'll be fine,” Andrew said firmly, also helping himself to Al's plate. “You were brilliant before. By the time you face off against Slytherin, you'll be ready to wipe the field with them.”

Felicia was watching Al's face. “Let's talk about something else,” she said. Al shot her a grateful look as Vincent tactfully changed the subject to a story he'd read in the Daily Prophet.

Al wasn't really paying attention until he heard his aunt's name mentioned. “Wait, what?” he interrupted. “Did you say something about Hermione?”

“Oh yeah, she's your aunt.” Vincent's lips quirked in a quick crooked smile. “That must be kind of weird, having the head of magical Law for an aunt. Your cousin never mentions it.”

“Rose tries not to,” Al admitted. “Though she did say during the summer that some of the older students were actually walking on eggshells around her for half of last year. As if she'd turn them in to her mother to be arrested for any tiny infraction. She hated it.”

Felicia's eyes were big. _Muggle-born_ , Al reminded himself with an internal wince. There was still a lot about his family she was in the dark about. To his surprise, however, Andrew turned to stare at him blankly too.

“Head of magical Law?” they both echoed with varying tones of confusion.

“You know... the Department of Magical Law Enforcement...” Al trailed off lamely.

“Your aunt is _that_ Weasley?” Andrew hissed at the same time Felicia said, “You mean like wizard cops?”

“Granger-Weasley,” Al corrected automatically, as Rose always tended to do. “Anyway,” he said hastily, turning back to Vincent, “what was that article about?”

Vincent shrugged, reaching out to nab a roll from Al's untouched plate. “Some witch in some backwater little village was accusing her neighbor of being a Death Eater. Can you imagine it? There _aren't_ any Death Eaters left. What's the point? Voldemort and all he stood for are gone.”

“That's a little naïve,” said a new voice.

Al turned, startled. There was an older boy seated on Andrew's other side, who'd obviously been at least partially eavesdropping. It was hard not to sometimes, Al told himself, fighting back a flare of annoyance. You had to actively try not to hear what the people around you were saying during mealtimes, with everyone squished up next to each other on the benches.

The boy was only vaguely familiar to him, a fifth or sixth year he'd seen in the halls sometimes. He had mousy hair and squinty blue eyes. His face was completely covered in freckles. Al searched for a name and gave up. It was impossible to know everyone at school, even in his own House. Especially since the older years usually couldn't be bothered to have much to do with the younger ones.

But Vincent seemed to know him, though his tone was a little cool as he responded, “It's not naïve, Dylan, it's fact. The Death Eaters were Voldemort's people, and he's gone now.”

The boy-- Dylan –flinched slightly. Older students still did that sometimes, Al had noticed. They'd grown up with parents still struggling to get over saying “He Who Must Not Be Named”, and the name was still partially taboo in their homes. “Yeah, but it's not like he was the only one who had that twisted view,” Dylan said. “Otherwise he never would have gathered so many followers so fast. There were plenty of purebloods who thought the same way. Just because _he's_ gone doesn't mean everyone who used to think that way suddenly changed their minds.”

Vincent frowned at him, but didn't respond. Probably, Al thought with a sick feeling, because he knew Dylan had a point.

“Being a prejudiced arse and being a Death Eater isn't the same thing,” Andrew put in suddenly.

“There were plenty of Death Eaters who were rabid followers of Voldemort,” Dylan snapped, tripping slightly over the name. “They have to lie low, but no one can make them stop thinking the way they do. How do we know there isn't another Bellatrix Lestrange out there somewhere? They didn't throw _all_ the Death Eaters in Azkaban, you know. Some escaped. Some were never identified.”

It was an argument Al was not unfamiliar with. He'd overheard similar conversations between his parents and Rose's. Harry seemed willing to give people the benefit of the doubt-- especially since he'd personally tracked down the last of those who were officially considered the last free Death Eaters nearly seven years ago. But Hermione and Ron had seemed certain that there could be others in hiding. Or worse, Hermione had said grimly, new generation Death Eaters. Those who hadn't been in Voldemort's circle during the war, but held some sick sort of hero worship for his memory, possibly from stories passed on from dark-leaning relatives or friends.

For just a moment Al thought briefly of Scorpius. Son of a Death Eater. Grandson of Death Eaters. He flinched back from the thought guiltily. The Malfoys had cut ties with Voldemort right at the end of the war, for all intents and purposes. And Draco had been a reluctant Death Eater at best. Al's father owed his life to Scorpius's grandmother, for Merlin's sake. She'd lied to Voldemort's face on his behalf. And Scorpius could be a brat, but Al had never heard him say anything against anyone not considered pureblood.

Still, the idea had been planted, and it came back every now and then to tease him with dark possibilities. How well did he really know Scorpius, after all?

“What else did the article say?” Felicia asked, obviously desperate to bring the conversation back on track and avoid an argument.

Vincent turned away deliberately from Dylan to answer her. “Not much. There was an investigation, but it's still pending. Your aunt,” he glanced at Al, “made some official comment about not wanting to jump to conclusions, and the dangers of laying that kind of blame on someone without proof. They didn't even release the name of the accused, in case it really is just nothing.”

“It probably _is_ nothing,” Andrew said stoutly, returning to his lunch, obviously dismissing the whole thing. “Just someone who hates their neighbor and figures this is a good way to screw them over. Can we not talk about this? It's depressing. Those days are over. Even my folks don't talk about it anymore if they can help it.”

“What House were they in?” Dylan interjected, squinting suspiciously.

Both Al and Vincent bristled, but Andrew answered before either of them could respond, his tone cold. “Hufflepuff. Why, you got something to say about my folks?”

Looking a little embarrassed, Dylan turned away and quickly joined a conversation with the older students on his left about Potions homework.

“He seems like the sort of git who was part of the fifth House,” Andrew grumbled, stabbing at his porkchop viciously.

Felicia cleared her throat, looking uneasy. “Anyway,” she said, a bit too brightly, “Vincent, are you going to study with us this weekend?”

The conversation eased into safer topics, but Al found it hard to pay much attention. His stomach churned as his mind danced from one unhappy thought to the next. Their upcoming match with Slytherin. The possibility of Death Eaters in hiding. The Malfoys' dark past.

By the time lunch ended, his friends had eaten more off his plate than he had.

 

 

~*~

 

It was easier to push back unwanted suspicions about the Malfoy family during Potions.

Now that they'd settled into a wary truce for the sake of their grades, he and Scorpius were on, if not friendlier, definitely less hostile terms. Scorpius still seemed physically incapable of holding back snarky remarks, but Al was learning not to take everything the boy said as a direct insult. In fact, the more Al countered the comments with sarcastic remarks of his own, the less waspish Scorpius's tone became.

 _It's banter_ , Al realized, after spending a couple weeks trying to pin down the bizarre communication between them. _Kind of like how Roxie and Fred talk to each other. Scorpius probably talks like this to just about everyone. So long as he can tell that_ I _can tell he isn't saying it to be mean-- at least, not every time –things aren't so bad._

Not that Scorpius's comments and attitude didn't get under his skin sometimes. And there were days when they did end up snarling at each other by the end of class. But mostly they managed to stick to their truce. Their potions even improved to the point that Zabini stopped hassling them as much.

It also started to bleed into DADA; Scorpius would roll his eyes whenever Al answered a question incorrectly, but he rarely bothered to make an unkind comment loud enough for everyone to hear like he used to.

One day, after Macmillan thoughtlessly mentioned Al's less-than-average results on a quiz in front of the class, Felicia turned in her seat to stare at the back of the room where Scorpius was slouched over his desk, flipping with an expression of boredom through his textbook.

“I can't believe he didn't say anything,” she whispered. “Or even do that stupid bark laugh of his. You know, the mean one that usually gets the rest of the Slytherins laughing at you.”

Several Slytherins  _ had _ jeered on hearing Al's grade, and he could feel his face burning as a result. Professor Macmillan, realizing his mistake, had blustered a bit and then loudly begun the day's lesson, avoiding Al's resentful stare. But there hadn't been a peep from Scorpius.

Felicia gave Al a confused look. “He hasn't been teasing you much lately. Did something happen, or did he just get bored of it?”

“He got bored of it, I guess,” Al mumbled, crumpling up his quiz and shoving it in his bag. He was currently more concerned with how he was going to explain his shaky grade in DADA to his folks during the holidays than he was with what Scorpius thought of him. He'd thought, after his success with Expelliarmus, that he'd start getting better at the class, but they were back to memorization and theory again. There wouldn't be much actual spell casting until after the break, Macmillan had informed the disappointed class. The early years were more about learning facts about dark creatures than spells.

“Well, anyway...” Felicia glanced once more towards the back of the room, then seemed to push her questions about Scorpius to the back of her mind. “Are you coming to the game after dinner? It's Ravenclaw's match against Hufflepuff. Rose is excited about it.”

“Yeah. I want to see Ravenclaw's Seeker in action.” Al swallowed past the nervous lump that always rose up when he thought about his own upcoming game. “I thought you weren't, though. Didn't you say two days ago that you had too much studying to do?”

She shrugged airily. “If Rose can put aside studying for one evening, so can I. I want to support her.”

“She doesn't play.”

“No, but it's still her House. Anyway, Andrew wouldn't stop nagging me about it until I agreed. I think he's hoping to turn me into as much of a Quidditch fanatic as you two are. And it is fun to watch, even if the rules are weird. I still think I like soccer better.”

“They can't even _fly_ in Muggle games!”

“Yeah, but still...” she closed her mouth abruptly, and they both bent their heads over their books as Macmillian drew near, still loudly explaining the dangers of trolls. He was going to mention Harry Potter's triumph against a troll in his first year at any moment now, Al thought with resignation.

As if on cue-- it was probably the whole reason for Macmillan heading in his direction in the first place –the Professor clapped a hand on Al's shoulder briefly and launched into glowing praise about the bravery of Harry and his friends during their first year.

“The way Dad tells it, it was a lot less heroic and a lot more scary and gross,” Al muttered out of the side of his mouth once Macmillan had moved on. “Lots of troll bogeys and exploding toilets. Macmillan adds even more embellishments than Uncle Ron does.”

“Your dad really was a hero, wasn't he?” Felicia asked, looking at him a little oddly. “I mean... a lot of people seem to expect a lot from you and your brother. And Macmillan's not the first professor to talk about your dad. Heck, I've got a couple cards from those creepy chocolate frogs that have his face on them. And I heard a fifth year mention how there was an entire _section_ about him in his History of Magic textbook.”

Al cringed. “Sometimes I'm really glad you're Muggle-born,” he admitted. “I get a little tired of hearing about how great my dad was.”

Felicia looked startled. “Aren't you proud of him?”

Al realized how that had come out and nodded hastily. “Of course I am. My dad did a lot of insane things. I mean... he saved the wizarding world, for crying out loud. But it's kind of exhausting to be named Potter nowadays. I can't imagine how hard it was to  _ be  _ Harry Potter back then. I just have to deal with all the expectations and people treating us different. Mostly the grown-ups, though.”

“Don't worry,” Felicia said bracingly. “It won't take long for people to see you as Albus, instead of just Harry's son. When you get older and become more... well, _you_ , you'll see. Everyone will.”

He flushed. “Thanks, Felicia.”

Andrew twisted around from his seat right in front of them. He'd listened with rapt attention to Macmillan's tale. “Al,” he hissed, “did your father really drill out a troll's brains with his wand? That's wicked!”

Al let his head thump onto the desk dramatically, and Felicia erupted into giggles.

 

~*~

 

After that, it was hard to fend off Felicia's questions about his family. He was dismayed by her sudden interest, and even caught her in the library once poring over old newspapers with stories about the war and Harry's role in them.

“Take those stories with a grain of salt,” he warned her. “A lot of people at the Prophet really had it in for my dad back then.”

Being Muggle-born, most of what Felicia knew about the wizarding world came from what she'd seen and heard in Diagon Alley and Hogwarts itself. After the discussion of Death Eaters and mention of Al's father, she suddenly seemed obsessed with learning as much about the dark days as she could.

“But why?” Al demanded, annoyed when she pestered him one evening before bed for information about the prophecy concerning the Boy Who Lived. “It's in the past, Felicia. It's done with. Dad's an Auror now, not some savior. Even his scar's faded. You can barely see it anymore. Voldemort's gone.”

“I like history,” she said defensively. “And the second wizard war was a huge event that wasn't even that long ago. Wars have a way of causing ripples and after-effects on the world, you know. Knowing about the past can explain why some things are the way they are.”

“You sound like a textbook,” he grumbled, returning his attention stubbornly to his Potions homework. “Or like Rose. Same difference.”

“I don't get it, either,” Andrew said, looking up from his own essay. He started to chew on his quill, then spat out ink and put it aside. “It didn't have anything to do with your folks; they were oblivious to what was going on, same as all the other Muggles. And like Al said, it's in the past. It has nothing to do with us.”

“But it _does_ ,” Felicia insisted, undeterred. “It _is_ affecting us. Or do I really need to remind you why that stupid fifth House was created in the first place?”

Al frowned uneasily. She had a point, but he didn't want to concede it. He had already told her he got sick of people talking about his father all the time. And yet here she was, constantly bringing him up. “Look, can we just drop it? Are you gonna work on your Potions essay or not? It's due tomorrow, you know.”

“Oh, fine,” she said, sitting down huffily between them and yanking her book out of her bag. “I'll just ask Rose.”

“Ask James,” Al suggested, a trifle snidely. “You know how much he likes being a celebrity.”

“Maybe I will,” Felicia said.

Andrew glanced between the two of them, uneasy at the sudden prickliness, but didn't say anything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Gahhh I'm sorry for the hiatus. I hit a wall with writing in general after the move across-country, and have been pretty busy at work. When I finally did start writing again, I was pouring all my attention into my novel. This chapter feels a bit short and thin, but I needed to start leaving crumbs for later years, etc etc.
> 
> Also, I was perusing some after-the-war stuff of the HP wiki again to refresh my memory on some things (though I have taken quite a few liberties, obviously), and ran across something I'd missed before. Apparently Harry eventually moved on from being an Auror to being the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, while Hermione moved from that to becoming the Minister of Magic. (I'm not sure if this is stuff I just overlooked, or came out later from things like Pottermore or that Cursed Child thing, which I haven't read.) In these stories, that hasn't happened yet; he's still an Auror, and she's still head of MLE. Apparently it doesn't happen until several years down the road, so if I do keep with that canon, it won't happen for awhile.


	10. Offense & Defense

 

**~*Chapter 10*~**

**Offense and Defense**

 

 

As the days grew swiftly colder and Christmas break drew nearer, conversation amongst the students turned to excited contemplation of the mysterious events that would be held after the holidays.

“How are we supposed to be ready for this competition if Macmillan won't teach us any decent spells?” Al said in exasperation one afternoon, glaring at the open textbook in his lap.

It had gotten far too cold to relax out on the lawn and study as they usually did, and the library tended to be full of uptight upperclassmen studying for their end of year exams. In order to still study with Rose, Al and his friends had started meeting in the greenhouse with Neville's permission.

“Just don't touch anything,” he'd warned, with a significant glance towards a shelf lined with writhing, hissing vines with teeth.

“No problem,” Felicia had agreed quickly, eyes wide. All throughout their study sessions, she kept twisting around as if expecting one of the plants to dig itself out of the soil and sneak up on her. “Plants aren't supposed to _move_ ,” she would mutter every now and then. “Wizards are _crazy_.”

“You're a witch, Felicia,” Andrew would remind her with fraying patience.

“Yes, but _still_...”

At Al's outburst about spells, Vincent raised his head from his own textbook, blinking owlishly from behind his reading glasses. Al still wasn't used to seeing him in them. Vincent was self-conscious about the thick lenses, and had only recently started wearing them around the others when they studied.

“I only need them for reading,” he'd explained, scowling weakly when he saw Rose's amused expression. “I wear them in class. Fred gives me a hard time about it already, so keep your mouths shut, all right?”

“I'm sure we'll learn more spells later in the year,” Rose said now. “But it's normal for first and second years to focus mostly on creatures in DADA. Or at least, that's what Molly says.”

“But how are we going to stand a chance against the older students in the ICHE if we only know a handful of spells?” Al demanded.

“IHCE,” Felicia and Vincent corrected.

“Whatever! I'm serious. And it's not just the students. Who knows what kind of challenges we'll be facing? If they're going to let second years participate, they should teach us more spells. That's all I'm saying.” Al glared down at his book. They were reading about werewolves this week, and he was positive there would not be any werewolves in the competition. What a waste of time.

Felicia opened her mouth, then closed it again. She'd stopped asking Al about his father, but she seemed hesitant to offer her opinion to him sometimes lately, as if afraid she'd say the wrong thing and irritate him again. It made him feel lousy, but he couldn't figure out how to tell her it was all right without bringing up everything about his family again.

“They'll obviously keep in mind that not everyone competing will know that many spells,” Vincent soothed. Besides, I hear you've been doing great in Charms, so it's not like you don't know any spells at all.”

“Al's got a point,” Andrew interjected. “We might need offensive or defensive spells to get through the events.”

“It's their first attempt at this IHCE thing,” Rose said. “I'm sure they'll keep it simple this time, as a trial run. Don't worry so much.”

Andrew ignored her, already struck by an idea. “Hey, Al, what about your older cousins? Couldn't they show you a few tricks?”

“I wouldn't trust Roxie, Fred, or James not to teach me something that will just backfire on me,” Al admitted with a wince. “They'd find that pretty hilarious. Besides, I'm sure they're hoping to compete, and they won't want to give me an edge. Dominique's so busy with her schoolwork and her new girlfriend, I barely even see her anymore, even in the halls. And Molly might think it's cheating.”

Andrew turned to Vincent hopefully. “Don't _you_ know any spells you could teach us?”

“I'm only a year above you,” Vincent protested. “It's not like I know a million spells, either.”

“Can't you think of just one that might help?” Andrew wheedled.

Vincent fell silent, considering. “Well... what about a protection spell?”

“I know _Protego_ already,” Al said. “I kind of had to learn it last year, with all the jinxing going on. I guess that _would_ come in handy.” He'd taught Felicia, too, though she hadn't been very good at it. He made a mental note to teach Andrew at some point. “But what about something offensive or tricky?”

Vincent removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, mouth pursed as he thought.

“Oh!” Rose said so suddenly that Al jumped. “I know one! I learned it from Mum.” She hesitated, looking guilty. “Though... she told me it's only for emergencies, really. I don't think she wanted me teaching other people.”

“Oh, come on, Rose,” Andrew said. “You can't just say that and then try to back out. What's the spell? What's it do?”

Rose twisted a lock of hair around her finger over and over, practically squirming. She clearly already regretted her outburst. “It's... it's an unlocking spell.”

“What use is that?” Andrew scoffed.

“Well, it _could_ be,” Vincent admitted. “What if you run across a locked gate or chest or something?”

Rose took a deep breath, glaring around at them all fiercely. “You'd have to _promise_ you wouldn't use it for doing anything against the rules. Or the law.” She looked right at Al. “And you can't tell your brother. And especially not Roxie or Fred... assuming they don't know it already. Honestly, I wouldn't put it past them.”

“Fine, fine, I promise. Just tell me, already.”

Rose lifted her quill like a wand and moved it in a quick tapping motion. “ _Alohomora_.”

The others repeated it carefully, with Rose occasionally correcting pronunciation or inflection. Once she was satisfied, she tucked her quill behind her ear and returned her attention firmly to her textbook. “I mean it,” she muttered. “Don't you dare use it to get into trouble. You'll have to find a way to practice it-- _legally_. But don't let anyone catch you, all right?”

Felicia kept opening her mouth, then shutting it again. Finally Al said, with as much patience as he could muster, “What, Felicia? You have an idea?”

“I just... thought it'd be a good idea if we all wrote down the spells we _do_ know,” she said quietly. “You know, everything we can think of. There's bound to be something that might come in handy.”

“Do it alphabetically,” Vincent agreed. “Think of every spell you know that starts with A, then move on. I'm sure you've seen or heard more than you realize.”

“Good idea,” Al said hastily, hoping Felicia would realize he was no longer angry at her. He found a blank sheet of parchment and dipped his quill in ink. “All right... 'A' spells. How do you spell 'alohomora'?” Rose spelled it for him, and he looked around at the others expectantly. “What else?”

“ _Ascendio_ ,” Vincent said after a moment's thought. “I've never used it, but I've seen it before. You can lift yourself into the air.”

“That one's a little tricky, from what I hear,” Rose mused. “But write it down, Al. Maybe you or Andrew will be able to cast it.”

“Aren't any of you going to compete?” Andrew asked in surprise.

Rose shook her head firmly. “No way. I'm not going to be this year's guinea pig. I'll see what it's like from a spectator's point of view for now, thank you very much. Maybe next year.”

“I'll do it,” Vincent said. “It sounds fun.”

Felicia also shook her head when Andrew turned to her. “No, half my spells either don't happen at all or fizzle out. I'm afraid I'd panic and let down my team.”

“All right, any other 'A' spells?” Al asked, jotting down “ascendio” on the parchment. “No? Okay... what about 'B'?”

They spent longer than they meant to listing every spell they could think of, even the ones they knew were too advanced for them to successfully cast. By the time they'd reached the M's, it was getting dark.

“Merlin's beard,” Rose swore when she finally glanced up and noticed how late it was.

“That's not a spell,” Andrew laughed without looking up.

“No, you dolt.” She waved towards the windows. “It's nearly dark. And we barely got any studying done! But we'd better get inside soon before we're out past curfew.”

As everyone hastily gathered their things, Al carefully stacked the lists of spells together and slipped them to the bottom of his bag. There were no forbidden spells there, but there were quite a few that were considered far too advanced for beginners, and he didn't want a professor or older student finding them and possibly getting them into trouble.

“We'll try practicing some of them this weekend, right?” Andrew asked, excited at the prospect as they hustled across the grounds towards the front doors, hunching down in their robes against the cold.

“Yeah, but we'll have to find somewhere we won't be bothered.” Al shook his head. “And that won't be easy.”

“What's wrong with the greenhouse?”

“Are you crazy?” Felicia shuddered. “There's no _way_ I'm risking a spell backfiring around those creepy plants! I don't want my second year marred by some Little Petshop of Horrors incident.”

Rose gave her a blank look, but Vincent chuckled.

“Muggle reference,” he explained when Al peered at him strangely.

“You should ask your brother,” Rose suggested suddenly. “For a place to meet, I mean. Obviously he and the other 'Judges' had a pretty good hiding spot when they were having their stupid fifth House meetings.”

“Of course!” Al felt like kicking himself. “The Room of Requirement! Where else? I can't believe I forgot about it. Mum and Dad mention it all the times in their stories. James even used to pester Dad for details on how to find it.” He frowned. “Dad wouldn't tell him, though. He'd just laugh and either say 'maybe when you're older' or 'you'll find it if you need it'. I guess James figured it out himself somehow.”

“You're right,” Rose breathed, eyes alight. “That has to be it. My parents have talked about it, too.”

“Wait, wait,” Andrew cut them off, waving his hands to get their attention. “What in blazes are you two talking about? The Room of _What_?”

They slipped inside and stood stamping their cold feet for warmth for a moment as Al explained in a low voice, keeping one eye on a ghost that passed lazily overhead. “The Room of Requirement. It's a secret hidden room somewhere in the castle. Most people don't even know it's there, or how to find it. But our folks found it back when they went to school. They used it to have meetings with Dumbledore's Army.”

“Do you think James will tell you how to find it?” Rose asked, looking skeptical.

Al frowned. “I don't know. He'd love having that sort of secret. A place he, Roxie, and Fred can go and goof off whenever they want... I'll try asking, though. Or maybe I can get Roxie alone and get her to tell me.”

“Leave Roxie to me,” Rose said firmly. “I learned a long time ago that the best way to get information out of her is to talk circles around her until she blurts something out. It's probably why Fred made sure she and I were never alone last year when we were trying to figure out what they were up to, before we knew they were Judges.”

“Fred might tell me,” Vincent put in. “They didn't tell me last year because they knew I thought the fifth House was garbage, but it may be different now.”

“You may have to hang out with them a bit more, then,” Rose said thoughtfully. “During down-time. Instead of us, I mean. The closer you are, the more likely they are to tell you.”

“And miss out on your oh-so-fun study sessions?” Vincent rolled his eyes dramatically, but flashed a smile to take away the sting. “All right. The trip to Hogsmeade is this weekend. I'll ask then.”

“Oh, right, you get to go this year.” Al tried hard to hide his disappointment. He'd heard so many stories about the town, and was eager to see his uncle's joke shop. It was supposed to be even crazier than the one in Diagon Alley. “I wish second years could go.”

“I'll bring everyone back some sweets or something, I promise.” He motioned gallantly towards the stairs. “C'mon, Rose, I'll walk you to the Ravenclaw tower. Catch you guys later.”

“It's not like she's going to get attacked,” Andrew said in bewilderment, watching them leave. “I mean, we're inside the bloody castle. Who's going to bother her on the stairwells?”

"It's called being a gentleman, Andrew,” Felicia huffed. “Take notes.”

Andrew rolled his eyes at Al. “Whatever. Let's go. I'm starved, and I've got a stash of toffee in my trunk that's calling my name.”

“Are you really going to ask James how to find the Room?” Felicia asked as they ascended the stairs. “I think you're right; he'd love keeping that sort of secret from you.”

“I think I'll only ask if Vincent and Rose don't have any luck with my cousins,” Al said. He glanced away and didn't say anything more. It had just occurred to him that he did know one other person who might know the secret to finding the Room of Requirement. Someone else whose father had spent time in it.

Scorpius Malfoy.

 

~*~

 

The problem was that Al couldn't figure out how to bring up the subject around Scorpius.

For one thing, Scorpius only seemed willing to act like a semi-civilized human being during class, when their grade depended on it and their truce was upheld.

For another, it was probably a sore subject. Draco Malfoy had been in the Room of Requirement paving the way for the Death Eaters to enter Hogwarts unseen. His treachery had gotten Dumbledore killed and several people seriously hurt. It might just make Scorpius angry if he brought it up.

And there was no way to know if Draco had even explained any of that to his son. Maybe he'd been too ashamed. If so, Scorpius wouldn't know how to find the Room, and would be furious at Al's accusations.

Regardless of whether or not Scorpius knew anything, it ended up being almost impossible to find time to bring it up. During class, they couldn't discuss anything outside of potion-making without risking the wrath of Zabini. And in DADA they sat on different sides of the room. He couldn't even corner the other boy in the library because there were always so many sixth and seventh years crowded in there lately.

Al told himself to focus on finding the time to actually talk to Scorpius, and worry about _how_ to bring the subject up later. He began hurrying out at the end of class, hoping to catch Scorpius alone in the hall, but he was always surrounded by his Slytherin friends. Even when he sought him out right after meals, he was never alone. And whenever his friends noticed Al dawdling nearby, they closed ranks and offered dark looks until he scuttled off.

In the end, Scorpius solved his problem for him.

Al was hurrying down the empty halls towards the dining hall, hoping Andrew had saved him a seat. Someone had accidentally stepped on Trinity's tail and she'd climbed on the top of the wardrobe. It had taken forever to coax her down and soothe her with treats. And now one of the school ghosts was flying overhead, following him without saying a word. Probably making sure he wasn't off to cause mischief somewhere. It creeped Al out.

Rounding a corner, Al very nearly ran smack into Scorpius, who was waiting for him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “Potter,” he barked, “why are you following me?”

“Wha--?” Al took two quick steps back, caught of guard. “I wasn't! I was taking care of--”

“You've been trying to sneak up on me all week.” Scorpius's hand lowered towards his waist where his wand was kept. Al fervently hoped the movement was instinctive and not threatening. “What's your deal, Potter? Are you hoping to jinx me or something?” He glanced over Al's shoulder at the ghost, now circling lazily several feet away, and forced his hand away from his hip.

Al fumbled, every half-conceived conversation about the Room he'd ever considered trickling uselessly out of his brain. Instead, he stammered out the first thing that popped in his head. “I was just-- Uh, I was wondering what spells you know.”

Scorpius squinted at him. “What?”

“Spells. What spells do you know? Like... offensive and defensive types.”

“Why is that any business of yours?”

“I was thinking about the ICHE.”

“The IHCE,” Scorpius said slowly, visibly trying to control his impatience. “What _about_ it, Potter?”

“Well...” Al shifted his feet nervously. “You heard the Headmaster at the beginning of the year. Teams of four... in a cooperation event... And the Professors are going to be watching students, looking for people who might do okay together...”

Scorpius leaned away from him slightly, his mouth thinning and his brows puckering together. “What, you think they'll stick me on a team with _you_?”

“Well, why not?” Al demanded, stung. He'd come to just assume that's how it would work out. The possibility that it hadn't even cross Scorpius's mind offended him a bit. “It's rare for a Gryffindor and Slytherin to say two words to each other without making those words some kind of threat, right? Maybe Zabini's told the Headmaster that we kind of get along in Potions. Or that we at least don't try to poison each other.”

“Who said I even _wanted_ to be in the stupid competition, Potter?”

Al gaped at him, at a loss for words. It had not occurred to him that Scorpius might not be interested. In hindsight, he felt a little foolish for assuming. Scorpius didn't even like Quidditch. What interest would he have in any other competition? His hopes sank. What if he ended up with someone like Evaine Engleton on his team? She'd try to sabotage him for sure.

“Quit making a face like someone just kicked your puppy,” Scorpius said with a grimace. “I was... thinking about it, but I hadn't made up my mind. I still don't see what this has to do with what spells I do or don't know. You really think I'd share them with you?”

“Well why not?” Al demanded. “I'd share the ones _I_ know.”

Scorpius's lifted his chin haughtily. “Aside from _Protego_ , what useful spell could you possibly know that I don't? And I do know that one already, Potter, in case you forgot.”

He did, Al remembered. But Al's shield was stronger. He'd proven that protecting the both of them last year from the jinx battle that had erupted in the hall outside the library. He decided it wouldn't help to point that out with the mood Scorpius was in right now.

“I'm really good in Charms class,” he said instead. “And _you're_ really good at Transfiguration. And me and the others were coming up with--” he stopped, nearly biting his tongue. The list of spells he and the others had been constructing was supposed to be secret. If they found out he'd mentioned it to Scorpius Malfoy of all people, Andrew would hit the roof. Even Rose might get mad.

Scorpius was eyeing him suspiciously, but before he could demand an explanation, someone called his name from down the hall.

Three Slytherins were approaching from the direction of the dining hall, and Al felt his heart sink when he realized who the girl leading them was.

Evaine Engleton herself.

She spotted Al at the same time he saw her, and her wand was out of her pocket and pointing at him in a flash.

“Scorpius! You all right?”

“I'm fine,” Scorpius snapped, barely glancing back at them.

The boy beside Evaine was slowly reaching for his own wand, glaring at Al. “We were wondering what was keeping you. Is that Potter? Is he trying something funny?”

“Four against one, Potter,” the other boy said menacingly. His wand was already out, as well, and he lifted it to point it at Al. “Thought you could get the drop on Malfoy, huh? Nice try.”

“I wasn't doing anything,” Al protested, stuffing his hand in his pocket to seize his wand. He didn't draw it, though. Evaine looked inches away from blasting him off his feet with a nasty jinx if he so much as sneezed. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah, right,” the second boy sneered. “About what? What's Malfoy got to say to _you_?”

“We were talking about Potions, Wallace, you big clod,” Scorpius said coolly. He finally turned on his heel to face them, and in doing so put himself a little bit more between Al and the others. Al couldn't tell if the move was deliberate or not, but he was both surprised and grateful. “Zabini's threatened to fail me if this idiot doesn't pass his class.”

The other boy's eyes had drifted up and found the silently circling ghost. His wand lowered a fraction. “Hey,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. “We're not alone.”

Evaine continued to glare at Al, her wand still upheld. “It's just a ghost, Ned, don't be a ponce.”

“Everyone knows half the ghosts are snitches,” Ned hissed. “And isn't that one of Hufflepuff's? They're the worse ones at fetching Professors to break up fights.”

At some point Scorpius had drawn his wand. He held it loosely down by his side as he turned again, this time so he could see both Al and the Slytherins at the same time. “Just get lost, Potter,” he snapped. “We'll talk about how lousy you are at Potions some other time. I've got better things to do.”

Al breathed a small sigh of relief and released his wand, pulling his hand from his pocket.

Evaine, however, seemed to think he was about to draw on them. Her wand made a quick flicking motion, and she lunged forward a step, screaming a debilitating jinx.

Scorpius's wand snapped up instantly.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

Evaine's wand jerked itself from her hand and soared through the air. Scorpius managed to catch it in his free hand at the last moment, but lowered both wands instantly. Al jumped. Evaine was gaping at Scorpius as if he'd grown two heads.

“Cut it out,” he shouted. “Are you trying to lose Slytherin House points?” He turned a fierce look on Al. “I said _get lost_.”

Al nodded jerkily and hurried past, giving the glaring Slytherins a wide berth.

He glanced over his shoulder once, and spotted the ghost still hovering over the Slytherins, still silent. Whether it was there to make sure they didn't cause any further trouble, or it had no clear purpose, he didn't know. But he could hear the Slytherins all shouting at each other, and quickened his pace to a near-run, relieved to have escaped such a tense confrontation.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews, guy *A* It really gave me the kick I needed to get this chapter done quickly <33  
> (Edit: sorry if this chapter showed up twice; AO3 kept crashing while I was trying to upload it. It should be fixed, now.)


	11. Plots and Preparations

**~*Chapter 11*~**

**Plots and Preparations**

 

 

Vincent put the plan into motion immediately. If he had any hope of learning the secret of the Room of Requirement, Rose's idea was the best one. He stopped coming to study sessions with Al and his friends and instead was found in the company of James and the Weasley siblings more and more often.

Al had to admit he was a bit stung, even though they'd all agreed to the plan. Watching Vincent laugh and joke with his brother in the dining hall and common room made him feel very left out. He'd become accustomed to Vincent being a part of his own circle of friends. It was also a sharp reminder that Vincent was older and more popular. Even some of the fifth years seemed to know and like Vincent, and they could be seen talking with him in the hallways in between classes. Perhaps they always had, Al reflected, and he just hadn't noticed. But now that Vincent was pretending to have lost interest in Al and the other second-years, Al could barely even receive a return wave or smile when they passed each other. It felt like Vincent had well and truly cut ties with the lot of them.

“He just has to make sure he gets close to James and the others,” Felicia said quietly one day, correctly reading his expression and gauging his mood. She was, Al reflected absently, getting a little too good at that. He'd thought only Rose so capable of understanding his unspoken thoughts. She'd be reading his mind by fourth year at this rate.

They were finishing up dinner, and the boisterous laughter of James, Fred, and Roxanne was easy to hear even from halfway down the long table. Vincent was telling some sort of joke that had them in stitches. Al forced himself to look away.

“I know that,” he answered Felicia. “I guess I'm just kind of worried he'll remember how great it is to be popular and...”

“Never acknowledge us again?” Felicia's mouth quirked in a small, brief smile. “Vincent doesn't seem like that kind of guy, Al. Anyway, they were his friends first. I think it's good that he's hanging around them again. He can be friends with you _and_ your brother, you know.”

Al opened his mouth for a sour response, then thought better of it. She was probably right. And besides, the air seemed to have cleared between them in the past week, and he had no wish to hurt her feelings again, accidentally or not.

Felicia turned in her seat to throw a nervous look towards the Slytherin table. “By the way, did you do something else to irritate Evaine? Her and her little pack keep glaring daggers at you. They've been at it for days now.”

Al grimaced, but refused to turn and look. He hadn't yet told the others about the confrontation in the hall. He was still mulling it over himself. He let his eyes drift towards the ceiling, where a few ghosts were floating past, calling greetings to familiar students. It was a lucky thing there had been a ghost nearby that day, he reflected. It had at least kept Evaine's buddies from taking a crack at him.

What puzzled him the most wasn't Evaine's anger towards him. It was the fact that Scorpius had lied to his fellow Slytherins-- and then disarmed Evaine when she'd tried to attack.

Perhaps he really had just wanted to protect his House. If Evaine's jinx had landed and the ghost had reported it, Slytherin would have lost points and Gryffindor might have tried to retaliate. Scorpius had been acting pragmatically. It didn't make him Al's friend.

That explained why he'd stopped Evaine, but it didn't necessarily explain why he'd lied about what they'd been talking about. Al felt his mouth pull into a frown. But then, the reason for that might actually be pretty obvious. Scorpius didn't want to be seen with Al. He'd been making that clear all year. And he definitely didn't want to lose face by talking about the possibility of teaming up in the IHCE.

Al stabbed at his roast beef petulantly. He felt as if he owed the boy for getting him out of what could have been a nasty confrontation, but since Scorpius had been doing it for purely selfish reasons, the thought of obligation rankled him.

Felicia was peering at him anxiously. “Al?”

“It's nothing.” Al shrugged, trying to adopt a look of unconcern. “I had a little run-in with her in the halls. She'd probably have jinxed the hair right off my head if there hadn't been a ghost watching the whole time. She's just mad she didn't get to go through with it, I'll bet.”

“Who, Engleton?” Andrew twisted around to send the girl a sharp look. “You steer clear of her, Al. She's bad news. I heard a rumor her uncle was a Death Eater.”

Al and Felicia looked at him in surprise. “Where'd you hear that?”

Andrew shrugged. “I dunno. I heard it a little while ago. Some older student, I guess.”

“A rumor isn't proof,” Felicia pointed out, though she looked uneasy. “And that's kind of a cruel rumor; especially if it's not true.”

“Still.” Andrew sent Al a significant look. “You watch your back around her. Bad enough that you have to sit with Malfoy in Potions, who everyone _knows_ comes from a line of Death Eaters. I hope you're never stupid enough to get caught alone with him. Or both of them. They're kind of buddy-buddy. I'm sure they'd both be happy to turn you into a toad if they got half a chance.”

“People who thought like Voldemort hated anyone who they don't consider pureblood,” Al countered. “I've never heard Scorpius bad-mouth those from Muggle backgrounds. He's like Zabini; he's a prat to everyone.”

“Would you stop sticking up for him?” Andrew sounded genuinely annoyed. “It's not like he's ever been nice to you.”

“I'm not--”

“Can we talk about something else?” Felicia pleaded.

Andrew let out an explosive sigh, but put up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I thought of another 'S' spell for our list.” He paused. “The list we're never gonna be able to practice if Vincent doesn't con the location for the Room of Requirement from your brother.”

“He's working on it.” Al glanced down the table where Vincent and Fred were bent over a piece of parchment, snickering over whatever was written on it.

“He looks less like he's trying to get information and more like he's planning a prank with his bestest chums,” Andrew drawled. “But whatever. I say if he doesn't find out about the room before the holidays, we find somewhere else to practice. Otherwise we won't have enough time to practice a decent amount before the competition.”

“Well, where else could we practice where we wouldn't be interrupted?”

They spent most of the rest of the evening trying to think of a good place. For half the time Al found himself privately wondering if Vincent would even be interested in helping them with the spells, now that he was firmly in James's group of friends again.

 

~*~

 

Scorpius never brought up the incident with Evaine, and so Al took a cue from him and let the matter lie. He'd already determined that Scorpius's actions had been an attempt to save himself and his House further shame, so what was the point in broaching the subject?

Their truce in class continued, but Al no longer made any attempts to speak with him alone, much less mention the IHCE again. Scorpius might not even want to participate, as he'd already said, so Al resigned himself to the very real threat that he may end up on a team with a Slytherin who might try to jinx him when no one was looking.

The professors, Rose had suggested shrewdly, might even match seemingly incompatible students together deliberately in an attempt to force them to learn to work together.

_That won't work if I end up with someone like Evaine,_ Al thought with a wince as he carefully dropped delicate fly wings into his potion. _She'll turn me to stone the instant there aren't any witnesses around._

“Hurry up with those wings.”

Jerked from his thoughts, Al handed over the little bottle of fly wings.

Scorpius stared at the bottle for a moment, frowning, then upended it onto the desk. Four pathetic tiny wings fluttered out. Al stared at the wings wordlessly. The potion required six. Al's potion was coming along decently, but if Scorpius's failed, they both would.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Scorpius shot him a narrow look, but didn't reply. He cast his eyes over the other ingredients, then selected a jar of dragonfly wings.

“Those won't work,” Al protested in an undertone. “Remember when that girl tried substituting different claws last week? Her potion reeked so bad we had to evacuate the classroom.”

“Shut up.” Scorpius selected two of the wings, sent a wary look towards Zabini to make sure he wasn't being observed, and dug out his wand. He tapped each wing in turn, muttering a spell under his breath.

Al watched in amazement as each wing shriveled and shrank until they were exact duplicates of the fly wings.

“Wow,” he murmured, unable to help himself. “You really _are_ pretty good at Transfiguration.”

Scorpius gave a sniff that somehow managed to sound smug, and added the wings to his potion.

Al watched, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. There had to be a way to convince Scorpius to try the IHCE. His magic could definitely come in handy.

The door to the dungeon slammed open, making most of the students jump. Al turned in surprise as Hagrid squeezed his great form through the door. He looked red-faced and bedraggled as if he'd been out in the cold weather all day, and he didn't even pause to smile at Al as he made a beeline for the head of the classroom.

Zabini met him halfway, his handsome face twisted in a scowl of annoyance. “Hagrid, what's the meaning of this? You're interrupting my--”

“Sorry, Professor,” Hagrid said breathlessly, waving one huge hand to cut the other man off. “I need a potion.”

Zabini scowled even fiercer, but led the way to his desk. Hagrid began quietly explaining his problem while Zabini collected ingredients. Al strained to hear the conversation, but even Hagrid's rumbling voice was difficult to pick up from the back of the classroom. He thought he heard the words “forest” and “flattened”, but could not for the life of him imagine what the problem was.

Zabini concocted his potion with swift efficiency, and when it was done, a puff of orange smoke erupted from the top of his cauldron. Measuring out a healthy dose into a flask, he handed it to Hagrid with bad grace. Mumbling his thanks, Hagrid hurried back out of the classroom, offering only a tight, distracted smile when Al tried to catch his eye.

“What in blazes was that about?” Scorpius muttered, watching the big man struggle through the doorway once more.

Al shook his head. Hagrid rarely came up to the castle anymore, except for mealtimes. Harry had once confided that the poor man still suffered from the bad memories of the war that echoed in the halls for him. He'd seen too many students and old friends die. “Maybe something happened to one of the animals in the forest,” he guessed. They both jumped as Zabini rapped a glass flask sharply with his wand.

“Quit gawking,” he snapped, glaring around at his curious class. “Get your potions finished. You only have ten minutes left.”

Everyone hastily returned to their work. Within minutes, Al was so intent on getting his potion correct that the strange incident was soon forgotten.

 

~*~

 

Despite their best efforts, none of them were able to think of a better place to practice, and Vincent seemed to be having no luck getting information from James. The holiday break snuck up on them, and with it came the knowledge that a return to school meant the upcoming game against Slytherin and the much-anticipated IHCE.

Al spent the whole train ride home and much of the first afternoon stressing about it. It wasn't until Lily, who'd been looking forward to her brothers' trip home, finally complained about his dark mood that he was able to draw himself out of his funk. He told himself firmly not to think about school at all, and was able to enjoy the holidays so long as he pretended there wasn't a potentially bone-breaking Quidditch game in his near future.

With so many people in and out of the house, it was an easy enough thing to forget. The Weasley family was there quite often, and Teddy, Hagrid, and McGonagall were all scheduled to make brief visits on Christmas day. Even their stand-offish uncle Dudley gave them a call and let them speak to their Muggle cousins.

With so many young witches and wizards in one place, spur-of-the-moment Quidditch games in the backyard were a common occurrence. It was a relief for Al to spend time playing the game just for fun again, without the pressure of the whole school watching. He even got to play Keeper some of the time, though keeping Roxie and her brother from scoring turned out to be nigh impossible.

Al got many gifts, but was surprised by one of them.

James had been going through the gifts sent to him from school friends via owl, and after opening one lumpy package, dug out a smaller bundle and tossed it at him distractedly. “Here, this one's got your name on it.”

Al barely managed to catch the shoddily-wrapped gift in his free hand. He carefully set aside the telescope his mother had gotten him-- it supposedly could pick out the stars in the sky clear as anything, even on a cloudy night or during the day –and checked the small tag. He recognized the slanted handwriting from study sessions instantly.

 

_To: Al_

_From: Vincent_

_Heard that ninny Evaine's giving you grief for breathing up all her precious oxygen._

_Use this if she's ever dumb enough to try something. She'll never see it coming!_

_Happy holidays_

 

Al tore open the flimsy paper and found himself staring in puzzlement at the present within.

“What'd you get?” Lily asked, leaning over for a look.

Al stroked Trinity absently as the cat invited herself into his lap. “I'm not sure.” He held the strange object up for her perusal.

Lily wrinkled her nose, clearly baffled. “It's a... forked stick?”

Harry looked over, saw the toy, and barked a laugh. “It's a slingshot,” he explained, reaching over to take the toy with a grin. “A Muggle toy.” He demonstrated, and Al jumped slightly when the rubber band snapped. “You put something like a rock here in the pouch and fire it at something. I made one out of a stick once and used to try knocking cans off the fence. I was going to use it against Dudley once my aim improved, but Aunt Petunia caught me practicing and threw it in the fireplace.”

“Which I'll do if you're foolish enough to try bringing that to school to use on someone,” Ginny said from where she was seated under the tree, wrapping a new scarf around her neck. “You'll put someone's eye out if you're not careful.”

Harry suppressed a grin as he returned the toy. “She's right, you know. I'm sure your friend figured no one would confiscate it at Hogwarts because most wizards wouldn't know what it is. But it can be dangerous.”

Al caught himself exchanging a swift, sly look with his brother. The temptation was almost too much. The thought of being able to bean Evaine in the back of the head without her knowing what had caused it... and without any hint of a spell to alert the ghosts or professors...

He made a mental note to pack the slingshot in his bag. Just in case.

He quickly changed the subject, hoping his parents would forget about the toy. “Hey, what ever happened with that Death Eater Aunt Hermione was investigating out in that village? Vincent said he saw an article in the Daily Prophet about it awhile back.”

Harry's smile faded. “ _Alleged_ Death Eater.” He set Lily on his knee, handing her a candy cane. She tolerated the affection, perhaps knowing that her parents were coddling their youngest child before she was old enough to attend Hogwarts and was too big for such things. “The witch in question wasn't on any of our lists of possible or known Death Eaters, and so far as we could tell, she had no familial ties to any, either. It was probably just a neighbor feud that got out of hand.”

“The poor old dear was understandably upset about the whole thing,” Ginny sighed. “Supposedly she packed up and moved right after the investigation.”

“I wouldn't want to live next to someone who accused me of being a Death Eater, either,” Al said.

But James was frowning. “She _left_? Doesn't that just make her seem _more_ suspicious?”

“Her neighbor was trying to get her thrown into Azkaban,” Al protested. “Everyone in the neighborhood would probably talk about her behind her back for the rest of her life. Makes sense to _me_ that she moved.”

“I thought all the Death Eaters were gone,” Lily said, eyes wide.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a quick look. Some of Harry's stories had given Lily awful nightmares when she was little, a fact that James had teased her mercilessly about for some time. It was an unspoken rule that Voldemort and Death Eaters were a taboo subject around Lily until she was older.

“Never mind all that,” Ginny said briskly, climbing to her feet and clapping her hands sharply. “Everyone tidy up your wrapping paper and presents. Ron and Hermione will be here in an hour. If you two want to play Quidditch before we eat, I want all your stuff put away neatly.”

“I want to play, too!” Lily slid off her father's lap and ran over to snatch up the practice broom her parents had gifted her. With both her brothers on the school Quidditch team, it had been inevitable. She'd harassed her mother for a broom of her own for the last three months. “I have a broom now.”

James rolled his eyes. “You don't even know how to use it.”

“There's an idea.” Harry got to his feet, collecting crumpled wrapping paper. “The two of you can teach your sister how to use it while you're waiting for your cousins to get here.”

James grimaced, but Lily looked so excited even he didn't complain. They gathered their loot, stashed it in their rooms, and followed their sister outside with their own brooms.

“I'm gonna be on the Gryffindor Quidditch team next year,” she boasted as she clumsily straddled the little broom. She ran around in a wide circle, as if waiting for lift-off. “They should just make the whole team Potters an' Weasleys! We'll waste Slytherin!”

James couldn't help but give a short laugh. “There's an idea.” He reached out and stopped her as she waddled awkwardly past him on her circuit. “Stop that. Just push off from the ground. These kid brooms are even easier than regular wizard brooms. It'll take off when you want it to.”

Lily obeyed, a little overenthusiastically, and bobbed up into the air with a lurch that almost unseated her. She clutched at the little broom, huddling over it and staring down in fascination at the way her feet dangled just off the ground. “I'm doing it!” she squealed. “Look! Al, look!”

Al carefully straightened her, pushing her into an upright position. “There. A family of flyers. Slytherin beware.” He exchanged a quick grin with his brother.

Lily wobbled for a moment, then began bouncing on the broom, nearly falling off again. “Higher!”

“It's a training broom for little kids, you dork,” James sighed. “It doesn't fly anywhere, it just hovers a couple feet off the ground. Do you _want_ to break your neck?”

“Lean forward,” Al advised.

She did so, and squealed when the broom obediently floated forward. “I'm flying!”

“Kind of,” James muttered, but indulged her a moment later. He went around to the front of the broom, seized the end, and began walking around the yard, pulling it along at a faster pace. Al followed, ready to catch her if she toppled off.

Lily began loudly commentating on a pretend Quidditch game in which she was the brave and fearless Chaser (winning the game single-handedly by the sounds of it). After a few moments their parents appeared on the porch with grins and a camera.

It was, Al reflected, a happier Christmas than the previous one. As he watched his older brother tug Lily around the yard without complaint, occasionally mimicking the sound of an excited crowd, he was reminded that James wasn't _always_ a prat. Perhaps it wasn't so strange that someone as nice as Vincent was friends with him after all.

 

 


	12. Duels and Doorways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wanders in 1 year late with starbucks*  
> S..sorry...... I ended up putting this aside because I got pretty discouraged with it. I had a lot going on IRL and I didn't think very many people were interested in it, so I decided to focus on my job and other non-fanfic related projects. But I've been thinking about this fic off and on lately, and decided it'd be a shame not to try and finish it after all that planning.  
>   
> 

Al had remembered to bring gifts back for his friends this year.

Felicia was enthralled with the color-changing ink she received, but Andrew, though gracious about his own gift, had his mind on other things. “Did anyone happen to have any brilliant ideas over the holiday for a place where we can practice spells?”

They were sitting in the Gryffindor common room, enjoying a crackling fire. Al shot a quick look toward a clump of fourth years chattering by the wall, knowing it wouldn't be long before they, too, claimed a spot by the fireplace to warm up and share holiday stories. “What about the Quidditch pitch? Except during practices or games, it's always empty. And there's plenty of room and it's out of sight of the school.”

“Hmm.” Andrew looked intrigued, but Felicia shuddered.

“It's still quite cold out,” she argued. “You'll have to bundle up, and probably no one will want to stay out long.”

Vincent strolled over and dumped himself onto the couch beside Al. “Out long where?”

“I thought maybe we could practice spells on the Quidditch pitch,” Al explained, arching a brow. “Unless you did manage to get James to cough up the location of the Room of Requirement.”

Vincent laughed. “You do realize that Lucas is going to have us practicing for the big game against Slytherin every chance he gets, right? Besides...” his grin widened, “I actually _did_ get Fred to talk. But only because I'm supposed to start meeting up with him, Roxy, and James there sometimes. They don't use it for that Fifth House nonsense anymore, but they still like to go there to study, goof around, and practice spells themselves.”

Felicia clapped her hands excitedly. “That's great! I can't wait to see it. A room that makes itself into whatever you want... that sounds grand.”

Al smiled wanly. Vincent's reminder of the game against Slytherin had put a dent in his elation.

“Assuming Lucas doesn't insist on practice today-- which he probably will –I'll show you all this evening right after dinner.” Vincent ruffled Al's hair fondly as he got back to his feet. Al ducked away automatically, but it didn't bother him nearly so much as when James did it. “In the meantime, think of what kind of room we actually need. You have to know what to ask of the room to get it to work properly.”

As soon as he left, Andrew took his place on the couch, quill at the ready. “You still got that list of spells, Al? There's a couple I wanted to add that I heard my cousin talk about over break.”

“I don't have anything, obviously,” Felicia mused. “But I was wondering if we could find out if there's some sort of countering spell. Protego will shield from harm, but isn't there a spell that can maybe make someone's spell backfire or something?”

“Good idea.” Al handed over the list to Andrew. “I wonder if I should ask Fred. Maybe some of the Judges learned something like that last year when all that jinxing was going on.”

“Don't ask your cousin,” Andrew said quickly. “We don't want him to know how much practice we're getting in. For all we know, he'll be on an opposing team or something.”

“I hope we get to see the room today,” Felicia said, practically bouncing in her seat. “And it would be really neat to learn some of the spells we've been talking about.”

Vincent, however, turned out to be right.

Lucas was determined to stomp Slytherin in the upcoming match, and hustled everyone out for a grueling practice session as soon as dinner was over.

He did the same thing the following evening, practically hauling Roxie away from her half-eaten plate.

Everyone seemed to be playing much more attention in Charms and DADA lately. A lot of students were hoping to be picked for the IHCE, and hoped to cram as much spell knowledge into their brains as possible. Either because of the competition or in response to their students' sudden attentiveness, some of the professors began doing more hands-on practice rather than just theory during classes. Cho Chang found more students than usual dropping by for flying practice and pointers, and even Neville's classes were less disruptive. No one knew what to expect in the competition, but everyone was hoping to learn something that might give them an edge.

It was Friday before Al and the others got their chance. “Lucas wasn't able to get the Quidditch pitch this evening,” Vincent told him over breakfast. “The Captain of the Slytherin team complained to Sinistra, and they've got the field for practice tonight. Tell Rose to meet up with us outside the dining hall after dinner if she's interested.”

Andrew pumped his fist in triumph. “Great! Professor Flitwick is teaching us some levitation spell today, I hear. We can practice it tonight.”

 

But it was during DADA that they got their most important training that day.

Macmillan seemed in high spirits at the beginning of class, pacing up and down at the front of the classroom, hands clasped behind his back as he beamed at his students.

“As you are, I'm sure, well aware, the IHCE will be happening soon,” he announced. “I know some of you younger students are interested in competing if given the chance, so I thought it would be a good idea to go over the basics of dueling.”

Andrew and Al exchanged a gleeful look. There was a swell of excited hubub around the room, then Macmillan had everyone push the desks aside once more to clear a space in the middle of the room. “Right then, I need a volunteer to help me out. Who here has ever seen a duel or knows something about them?” He looked expectantly towards Al.

But it was a small Slytherin girl with glasses and a very long braid who slowly raised her hand.

“Ah, yes, Miss Hernandez.” Macmillan made a sympathetic tutting noise. “You'd know all about that, I suppose. Step forward, step forward. You can help me demonstrate the proper etiquette.”

“What does he mean by that?” Felicia whispered.

Al shrugged. He'd barely even noticed the girl before. She was very quiet for a Slytherin.

“Her father's an American, I hear,” Andrew said in a low voice as the girl silently stepped forward and took up position a few feet away from the professor. “Or was, I guess. The whole family moved back here when they realized she was a witch because her mum wanted her to come to Hogwarts.”

“They should've stayed overseas,” grumbled a boy close enough to have heard. “ _I_ heard her mother was pretty chummy with some Death Eaters, which is why she fled to America in the first place.”

“Now then,” Macmillan said cheerfully. “Pay close attention. During a proper wizard's duel, you'll have a friend who will be your second-- someone to observe the duel and make sure there's no funny business and to step in if you are unable to attend the duel for whatever reason.” He coughed delicately. “They are also there to make sure you get home in.. whatever shape you may be in.”

“There to haul your body back to your folks, he means,” Andrew muttered. Al shuddered. He knew his own father had been in his share of duels as an Auror. They'd all been dangerous, and usually spontaneous. He still remembered one instance of his father staggering home, Ron holding him upright, and how he'd bled all over the rug before Ginny had helped Ron whisk him away to the bathroom to tend to his wounds. Lily had cried for a week, sure that one day her father would get into a duel he couldn't win. But that had been several years ago, and it was rare now for Harry to get into any truly dangerous scrapes.

Macmillan raised his wand in a salute. “Teresa, if you're ready?”

Expressionless, the girl took out her own wand , and the two of them bowed formally.

As they straightened, Macmillan smiled at her encouragingly. “Now, after the bow, obviously you want to act as quickly as possible. Go ahead, Miss Hernandez. Use any spell we've learned. I'll deflect it, have no fear.”

Teresa shot a look towards her fellow Slytherins, who were nodding encouragingly. She raised her wand, but remained mute. She seemed either unable to think of a spell, or wasn't keen on attacking a professor.

“Come come,” Macmillan said a tad impatiently. “We've learned a few now, yes? You may try a jinx if you like.” He arched a brow. “I'm sure your upperclassmen showed you one or two last year during that nasty Judge business, yes?”

She flushed, and many of the students stirred uneasily. For the most part people tried not to bring up the mess of the fifth House if they could help it.

“Come on, Teresa,” one of the Slytherins called encouragingly. “Jinx him good!” The other Slytherins laughed.

Teresa took a quick breath and gave her wand a flick. “ _Flipendo_!”

Macmillan was jerking his wand in a short slashing motion before she'd even finished the word. There was a sparking red light where the spell was deflected, and several students jumped.

“Countering spells-- especially wordlessly –will be something you won't learn or become proficient at for some years yet,” Macmillan said, flashing a smile at his students.

“He just wanted to show off,” Andrew said under his breath.

“However,” Macmillan continued, “there is a spell that some of you apparently know already. I saw a few of you use it last year.” He looked at Al meaningfully. “Again, Miss Hernandez.”

Teresa tightened her grip on her wand. “ _Flipe--_ ”

“ _Protego!_ ” Macmillan barked at the same time. A shimmering shield of light sprang up before him, absorbing the spell with another series of sparks.

“The _Protego_ charm is one every witch and wizard should have in their arsenal,” Macmillan said. “It will not last forever, especially against strong spells, but it could save your life one day. And even in non-lethal duels, it could save you some pain and embarrassment. Potter, front and center. Thank you, Miss Hernandez.”

Wordlessly Teresa returned to the knot of Slytherin students while Al reluctantly took her place.

“All right, now I'm going to attack you, and you try and stop the spells,” Macmillan said once they'd bowed to each other. “Don't worry, they'll be small harmless jinxes.”

Al readied himself, feeling on edge. What if he couldn't get the shield up in time? He'd look like a fool in front of the whole class.

Macmillan flicked his wand. “ _Impedimenta_!”

“ _Protego_!” Al said at the same time, making sure to keep his voice clear. Last time he'd stammered when trying the spell, it had fallen apart.

He felt himself relax slightly as the round shield came to life instantly, deflecting the jinx.

“Very good, very good,” Macmillan praised. “Now everyone find a partner. I want you to take turns practicing the _Protego_ charm. And no serious jinxes!” He waved over Felicia to take his place and began patrolling the room as the other students hastily paired up.

Predictably, the Houses stuck together. Andrew, however, ended up with a mean looking Slytherin because of the uneven numbers. The boy instantly began attacking with jinxes that Andrew was barely able to deflect in time.

“He's got good reflexes,” Felicia noted, watching sympathetically. “Good thing he's fast, or he'd be jinxed silly by now.”

Though Felicia had managed to bring up her own _Protego_ charm well enough, Al hadn't tested the shield with any spells yet. He was too busy watching Andrew's duel, unhappily certain that the Slytherin would manage to get a nasty jinx through. Macmillan, correcting another student on the other side of the room, hadn't noticed yet.

Andrew's temper ran out quickly. Rather than trying to deflect the next round, he waited for his opponent to take a breath, then angrily jabbed his wand forward. “ _Expelliarmus!”_

Caught off guard, the bigger boy didn't get a firm grip on his wand in time-- he stumbled back and his wand went flying to the side.

He looked furious as he straightened up, but Macmillan had come over to congratulate Andrew. “Splendid! I see you've been practicing. Come now, Mr. Felting, make sure you get your shield up before your opponent has a chance to finish his spell.”

Andrew looked quite smug, but Al privately thought that he'd better watch his back for the rest of the day. Felting looked ready to spit tacks.

 

~*~

 

They were all eager to try out spells that evening; Andrew had even scribbled down some of the jinxes Felting had been firing at him to try out.

“We won't even be able to do most of these,” Felicia pointed out, shifting her soup bowl aside to take another look at the list. “Some are too advanced. And others we don't really understand. I mean, don't you have to learn how to cast these? I doubt I can just wag my wand and say one of these jinxes and pull it off.”

“Never mind that,” Andrew said impatiently, scratching away eagerly with his quill. “We can save them for later. And maybe Vincent will recognize some and teach us.” He blew on the ink to dry it and leapt to his feet. “Come on, let's _go_. Vincent's already finished, he's just waiting on us.”

Al caught Rose's eye across the room and waved to let her know they were leaving, and they all gathered together in the main hall. A moment later Rose joined them. “I changed my mind,” she declared. “I think I _do_ want to participate in the IHCE. If I'm chosen, I mean. I think it'll be great practice, and you're right, Al. It probably won't be very dangerous, not this first time anyway.”

“Not me,” Felicia said firmly. “I just want to get better at spells, that's all.”

“Right, come on, then. It's on the seventh floor.” Vincent led them up the winding staircases. They had to backtrack twice when the staircases realigned themselves, and barely escaped Peeves on the fifth floor, but they made it without anyone nosy asking where they were all headed when so many students were either in their common rooms or outside.

“This way.” Vincent veered to the left, scanning the walls eagerly. “We're looking for a big tapestry with trolls doing ballet or something.”

After a few minutes' walking, Felicia pointed it out, nearly bouncing with excitement. “There! It's there!”

“They look ridiculous,” Andrew laughed. “Who would teach trolls ballet?”

But Vincent barely gave the tapestry more than a cursory glance. He seemed much more interested in the blank wall opposite it. “Right, this is it.”

Rose walked over and put her palm to the wall, pushing slightly as if she expected a trap door to swing open. “Great. How do we get in?”

They all looked at Vincent, but Vincent was looking at Al. “That was the part they didn't explain,” he admitted a little sheepishly. “He told me to meet them here so we could hang out, but said they'd be the ones to open it for me. Maybe they want to surprise me.”

“Or don't want to let you in on the secret,” Andrew muttered-- luckily, quietly enough that Vincent didn't hear.

“Anyway, I got the impression they figured out how to get in because of the stories their parents told them. How about you, any ideas?”

Al's heart sank. “Of course not! James never told me, and Dad didn't exactly give me written instructions...”

Andrew groaned, but Rose seemed unperturbed. “Come on, Al, let's put our heads together. Our folks have told plenty of stories that included the room. They must have mentioned how to get inside.”

“All right, all right...” Al stared at the wall, hoping for inspiration. “He said, er... he said something about... knowing what to ask for. You have to let the room know what you need.”

“Easy enough.” Vincent put his hands on his hips. “We need a room where we can practice magic in secret.”

They all nodded and looked at the wall.

Nothing happened.

“Wait, wait.” Rose began pacing, tugging pensively at her bottom lip. “That wasn't the only thing. I remember Mom saying something else. There are two steps to it, I think.”

Watching her pace, Al remembered suddenly. “You have to walk past it! A few times, I forget how many. You need to keep walking past it while thinking of what you need.”

“How many times?”

Al shrugged. “Let's try until it works, I guess.” He began walking back and forth in front of the wall, muttering under his breath, “We need a place to practice magic.”

On the third pass, he heard a rumbling sound that made him jump. A moment later Andrew gave a whoop; a door had appeared in the wall out of thin air.

“I love magic!” Felicia squealed, clutching Al's arm in excitement.

Vincent laughed, tipping Al a congratulatory wink. “Nice going. Now let's get inside before someone sees.”

 


	13. A Brutal Match

Al felt his arms break out in gooseflesh as he looked around the large room. It was bigger than most classrooms-- the perfect size for a handful of students to comfortably practice. “Our parents came here,” he said softly. “They needed almost the exact same type of room.”

Rose nodded somberly, staring at the practice dummies lined up against one wall. “When they had to prepare to face Voldemort. Dumbledore's Army.”

“Very cool, but personally I'm glad _we_ don't have to deal with that kind of danger,” Andrew said, moving past them to strike a heroic pose in the middle of the room. “Right! Who wants a duel?”

The others laughed, and Al dug out their list of spells. “Okay, let's figure out which of these we can actually _do_ first.”

“If anyone's got a spell they're pretty good at, speak up,” Vincent said, leaning over Al's shoulder to check the list. “That way you can help everyone else with it.”

“Good idea,” Rose approved.

They spent the next two hours practicing different hexes and charms. Al helped Rose and Felicia perform Engorgio, and under Vincent's patient tutelage he learned a new hex, Densaugeo.

“It'll make someone's teeth grow out like a beaver's,” Vincent explained with a wicked grin. “Doesn't do any real harm, but usually sends them into a panic, and makes it pretty hard for them to talk.”

Rose had what the others considered to be a terribly useful one.

“Finite Incantatem. Mum taught it to me over the break. I guess she was a little worried after that Judge business. It can nullify the effects of a spell.” She shrugged. “It might not work for us with stronger spells, but it could be really handy in a pinch if we can't think of anything else.”

They even gave the jinx Teresa had tried to use, Flipendo, a try, though only Vincent and Al managed to get it working right.

“We'd better give it a rest for today,” Vincent said at last, checking his watch. “It'll be curfew soon, and I don't fancy getting detention with the Quidditch match coming up.”

“I'll go first, and make sure the coast is clear,” Andrew volunteered. He hurried out, then poked his head back in a moment later. “All right, let's go.”

They spilled into the hall and Rose peeled off from the group with a cheerful wave. “Same time tomorrow, yeah?”

“I bet Fred and Roxie know some great jinxes,” Al said as they tiredly made their way to Gryffindor tower.

“Probably a lot of really nasty ones,” Vincent replied with a slight frown. “Besides, I'm sure they're itching to compete, too. They won't want to give you an edge.”

“Hey, wait.” Andrew gave him a suspicious look. “You're in their year. Even if any of us gets in, you wouldn't be on our team if they really do separate us by year.”

Vincent arched a brow. “So, what, I'm spying on your progress for them now or something?”

“Don't be daft,” Al said curtly, sending Andrew a warning look. “He taught us some stuff, right?”

Andrew shrugged, but let it drop. Felicia, however, chewed on her lip and looked unhappy.

Vincent must have noticed, because when they got to the tower he said good night a little stiffly and went straight to bed.

“Why'd you have to go and say that?” Al demanded, turning on them both. “And you could've agreed with me, Felicia.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, downcast. “But... Andrew sort of has a point, doesn't he? If you both get in, he could be competing against you. It might not be wise to let him know your strengths and weaknesses.”

A little voice in the back of Al's head was murmuring that there was truth to Felicia's argument, but he didn't want to hear it. “He's a good bloke, he'll play fair. Anyway, we don't even know if we'll be outright competing against each other. And he's pretty good at this, we need his help.”

“He is a good teacher,” Felicia admitted. “He's very patient.”

“Then can we drop it already?”

“Fine, fine,” Andrew grumbled, shouldering past him. “I'll keep mum, but if he ends up knowing the exact spell to counteract whatever we end up using in there, don't say I didn't warn you.”

 

~*~

 

The day of the Quidditch match came faster than Al would have liked. He was the only one who wished it he could slow down time; the game had originally been scheduled for before the break, but had been delayed for unexplained reasons. But this time he wasn't the only one on edge. The Gryffindor team huddled in the locker room with varying expressions of grim dread or outright blank-eyed fear. Matches against Slytherin were always rough, and there had been more than one fierce scuffle in the hallways in the last week. But this was the first game between the two Houses since the mess with the Judges had blown up the previous year, and there wasn't a doubt in anyone's mind that the Slytherin team were aching for some payback.

Al found his gaze sliding towards Lucas, who was pacing with frantic energy, waving his arms as he loudly went over strategies that most of them weren't even bothering to listen to. What would the other team do if they knew Lucas had been the mastermind behind the Judges? No wonder he was so uptight.

_This is his last year,_ Al suddenly remembered. Lucas would be devastated if they lost the final game before he graduated-- especially against Slytherin.

Outside, the Slytherins in the stands were roaring some kind of battle song, working themselves up into a frenzy already. It was not exactly good for the nerves. Al's mouth tugged into a frown. Scorpius hadn't bothered to attend this game, either. Al had spotted him heading for the library as James and Fred hustled him down the hall on the way to the field. What was it about Quidditch that Scorpius hated so much?

Vincent turned away from James to elbow Al gently in the side. “Hey, it'd probably be best if you caught the Snitch as soon as possible before Slytherin tears us apart out there, okay?”

Al nodded nervously. This was exactly why he hadn't wanted to be Seeker. Too much depended on him beating Slytherin practically single-handedly in games like this. “What's their Seeker like?”

Vincent hesitated, then attempted a weak if encouraging grin. “Dunno. That's the reason the match got pushed back, I hear. Their Seeker had a death in the family; had to go overseas for the funeral. They're using their alternate today. But she's a new recruit, like you. Just keep your distance from her and look for that Snitch.”

Fred and James had overheard and leaned over slightly to look at him past Vincent.

“Don't worry, Al.” Fred offered two thumbs up. “We'll keep the Bludgers far away from you.”

“Just help us win this quick and make Slytherin look like fools,” James added.

“We have to win,” Lucas said fiercely, still pacing with wild energy. “We _have_ to, Potter.”

Al closed his eyes and briefly fought off the urge to be sick again. “No pressure.”

Lucas peeked outside. “There's Chang. Slytherin's already coming out, let's go.”

They marched out amid wild cheers from the Gryffindor students, who were obviously trying to drown out Slytherin's boos at their arrival. As they stopped for Professor Chang to go over her pointed reminders to play fair, Al took a quick look at their competition. There were two girls on the team, and one of them, an older girl with very short hair, was glaring at Lucas with naked dislike. This, then, was the Keeper that he had such a rivalry with.

“Amanda Glek,” Vincent murmured in his ear. “If she hasn't convinced the Beaters to attack Lucas outright, I'll eat my socks.”

The Chasers were all hulking boys at least two years older than Al and made him feel like a runt. He was suddenly very glad he would be far away from the action. They were cracking their knuckles and grinning nastily. The Beaters looked even worse. One was squat and wide and the other was very tall, but they both looked very strong, and they were eyeing each Gryffindor player with an awful kind of deliberateness, as if thinking how quickly they could break each of them.

The other girl was the smallest there, though this was not an unusual trait for a Seeker. She stood just slightly behind one of the Beaters and didn't seem to be paying attention to anyone; her head was tilted back as she watched a bird high above, her face expressionless and almost bored. Al realized with a jolt that he recognized her. She'd put away her glasses for the match, but the aloof face and long braid gave her away. It was Teresa Hernandez from DADA.

“Captains, shake hands,” Chang was saying. Lucas held out his hand and the tall Beater reached forward and grasped it in what was obviously a painfully tight grip. “Mount your brooms!”

Al did so, still eyeing Teresa warily. She seemed disinterested and distracted. Perhaps that would work to his advantage.

The Snitch was released, then Chang did the countdown and hurled the Quaffle into the air. Everyone shot up, and Al kept right on going, higher and higher, determined to get away from the furious scuffle over the ball and begin his hunt for the Snitch. He was startled when Teresa soared past him, climbing into the air at surprising speed. By the time he caught up to her, she was already circling, eyes roaming back and forth, braid whipping behind her. For once her face was animated. She looked determined but also almost excited. Flying, it appeared, was the one thing that seemed to really matter to her.

_This could be a problem_ , Al thought, stomach dropping. He as a competent flyer, but he wasn't even as fast or talented as James. And this girl looked like she'd been born to ride a broom.

He heard howls of outrage from the Gryffindor fans, and even the Hufflepuffs were shouting foul. The Slytherins must be hammering away at their opponents, but Al refused to give the game his attention. He flew away from Teresa and began circling as well, straining his eyes for any sign of the Snitch at all.

The game dragged on, with Al getting more and more desperate every time the crowd's volume increased. He had no idea what the score was, and was too afraid to look down at the game and miss seeing the Snitch. No doubt the Slytherins were playing dirty, though, and he wondered with a sick feeling if anyone from his team had been injured.  _Don't think about it_ , he told himself fiercely. If he slipped up and Teresa spotted the Snitch first, there was no way he would beat her to it. She was just too fast.

He had forgotten, however, that she was not the only player he needed to pay attention to.

“AL, WATCH IT!”

Startled, he glanced down and saw James flying up towards him at breakneck speed.

The Bludger, coming unseen from his right, crashed into his leg an instant later.

The pain was immediate and horrible. His broom spun wildly, and he swung upside down, managing somehow to keep a deathgrip on the handle. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Teresa suddenly go darting off-- no,  _no_ \--

Pain forgotten, he struggled to right himself. James smashed the Bludger away with his club, shrieking at him to  _go go go--_

But by the time Al managed to get back on his broom and zip off after her, Teresa had screeched to a halt and was holding up one fist in triumph. Below, the Slytherins' cheers rang out fierce and loud.

Al floated in place, his fingers numb from their helpless grip on his broom. They'd lost.

 

~*~

 

“Why weren't you paying attention?” James shouted, stalking back and forth and tugging at his hair in frustration. “You had plenty of time to get out of the way--!”

“Why didn't you keep it off me?” Al shot back, ashamed and angry. He was lying in the infirmary, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg. He had miraculously avoided a broken leg, but he had an enormous ugly bruise, and his leg had swelled up something awful. The entire Gryffindor team was clustered around his bed, looking glum.

“Don't yell at him, James,” Vincent snapped. “He was keeping an eye out for the Snitch. It was your job to keep the Bludger off him.”

Fred gave Al an apologetic look. “Sorry, we were pretty distracted. Their Beaters kept trying to take out Roxie, and they'd already beaned her once and nearly knocked her clear off her broom. We weren't expecting them to suddenly turn on you.”

James made a frustrated noise, but said nothing. Lucas looked morose.

All of them looked tired and banged up. Roxanne had a black eye and a bloody nose, and Olivia had a split lip from where one of Slytherin's Chasers had elbowed her in the face “on accident” while wrestling for the Quaffle. Vincent's robes had a large rip in them from where one of the other Beaters had seized it and practically dragged him backwards off his broom. The Slytherins had earned so many fouls that they'd probably have never won if Teresa hadn't captured the Snitch so quickly. That had likely been their plan all along, Al thought sourly. Get as much payback as possible and rely on their Seeker to make up for it.

“I'm sorry,” he said, lowering his eyes. The others had taken quite a beating in their determination to win, and he'd let them all down. They'd lost the Quidditch Cup during their Captain's final year, all thanks to their new inexperienced Seeker. Al's eyes burned with humiliation. “She was a better flyer than me, so I thought... I thought if I just focused on seeing the Snitch before she had a chance to go for it...”

“An understandable strategy,” Lucas croaked. He looked as if a loved one had died. “I'd heard their new Seeker was good, but...” He sighed deeply and reached out to pat Al absently on the knee, oblivious to the pained flinch it evoked. “Ah, well. Good luck next year, chums.” He wandered off, shoulders slumped.

“He's going to be gloomy the rest of the year.” Roxie predicted with a grimace. “Poor sod.” She saw the look on Al's face and said hastily, “Well, no use crying over spilt milk, yeah? We'd better go before Madam Greene throws us out. She doesn't like too many visitors at once, and it looks like you've got more company, Al.” She nudged James to get him moving, and the team slowly followed their Captain out of the infirmary.

Felicia came hurrying over from where she'd been hovering in the doorway, followed closely by Rose and Andrew. “Oh my goodness,” Felicia gasped when she saw the bruise. “That looks terrible!”

Al hastily pulled a sheet over his legs. “It could've been worse. At least it's not broken.”

Andrew looked almost as disappointed as the team had. “Shame about Slytherin. They were being awful. It was unreal. I thought Professor Chang was going to start yanking people from the team right there in the middle of the game, she was handing out so many penalties. They really had it in for you guys.”

Rose arched a brow. “After last year, are you surprised?” She set a chocolate cauldron on the bedside table. “Here, eat this, I hope it cheers you up a little. And don't feel too bad about losing to Hernandez. I mean, it's no surprise she flies like that, what with her mother.” When she realized everyone was staring at her blankly, she explained quietly, “Her mother was supposedly a spy and a messenger for the Death Eaters. I mean, it was never  _proven_ , but she was so good on a broom that no one ever caught her, so she used to pull off some pretty dangerous stealth missions.” She paused. “At least, that's what I've heard from Dad, who was tearing his hair out about it some years ago. He never found a way to prove it. Everything was rumor and conjecture, but there was never any hard proof. And at the time she was hiding in America, so she was untouchable.”

Felicia's eyes were very wide, and Andrew seemed to have forgotten his disappointment over the game. “Great, we've got to go to school with the daughter of... what, some Death Eater super spy?” He sat down on the end of Al's bed and threw up his hands. “What happens if she ends up the IHCE? She's sure to know all kinds of horrible curses.” He hissed in a sudden sharp breath. “Wait, what if she's like... her mum's little apprentice or something? What if her mother came back and sent her to Hogwarts to... to...”

“To what?” Felicia asked fearfully.

“I dunno. _Do_ something! Something bad.”

Rose wrinkled her nose. “I doubt it. Remember, these were all rumors. Death Eaters being questioned by the Ministry would say anything, turn on  _anyone_ to try and get a reduced imprisonment or punishment. And besides, Dad said Mrs. Hernandez didn't even have that weird mark they all had on their arms.”

“Well _duh_ ,” Andrew said a little insultingly. “Who brands a _spy_?” He turned to Al, who had been listening in silence. “What do you think, Al?”

“I don't know,” Al said slowly. “It was Uncle Ron's case, so I don't remember ever hearing Dad talk about it. And Teresa may be a little odd, but that doesn't mean anything. Besides, d'you really think Shacklebolt would let her attend if he suspected her mother had sent her here with some ulterior motive?”

“He couldn't tell her no if there wasn't any proof,” Rose admitted. “But I've never heard of Teresa causing any sort of trouble. She's quiet. Keeps to herself. I think she even managed to stay out of that whole mess with the Judges. Or if she did get jinxed, I don't think she ever retaliated.”

“Because she's got to lay low,” Andrew insisted.

“I think you're being paranoid,” Al said flatly. His leg was beginning to bother him again and he was feeling irritable. “Besides, she was probably the only Slytherin player out there today who actually played fair.”

Sensing his irritation, Rose delicately changed the subject. “Is your leg going to be all right? How long do you have to stay here?”

“Madam Greene said she's going to give me a tonic to help it heal, and I'll have to spend the night, but she says I should hopefully be out of here by tomorrow or the day after. If you guys are going to practice spells again, don't wait for me. I can catch up when I'm out of here.”

“Felicia can bring your homework tomorrow if you get stuck here,” Rose suggested, smiling when he made a face at her. “I'll send an owl to your folks if you want. I think James is too busy moaning about the game to think about it.”

“No,” Al said quickly. “It's not a big deal, and I don't want to worry Mum. Besides, Dad's been hurt loads worse than this in games before.”

“All right. Though I hope you're not going to make getting hurt like this a habit. You've ended up here after both games already.” She spotted Madam Greene bustling their way with a jar of tonic and began shooing the other two towards the door. “Get some sleep, then. Feel better soon.”

 

The tonic Madam Greene gave him made his leg itch abominably, and he woke up several times during the night because he'd started to scratch it in his sleep and made the bruise hurt even worse. When he finally roused at dawn the next morning, however, the pain was much better already.

And Trinity, who had somehow found her way out of Gryffindor tower and down to the infirmary without being caught, was curled up against his shoulder, purring quietly in her sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg your comments on the last chapter made me blush at work ghjdakl


	14. Four Teams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uploaded ch 13 only like a day or two after ch 12 like a dip, so if this one starts out confusing, you may have missed the previous chapter.

It took some sneakiness and a lot of patience, but Al was finally able to corner Scorpius alone one evening in the library after dinner.

He'd spent a day in the infirmary before Madam Greene had declared him fit to walk, and it had taken another two days for the tonics to make the last of the ache dissipate so he didn't have to limp everywhere. Al spent most of the time avoiding just about everyone. Gryffindor was upset with him for losing (though not as upset as they might have been, Roxanne pointed out, if Slytherin hadn't been stomping them with so many dirty tricks), and Slytherin was obnoxiously gleeful about their victory, which they liked to insist they owed solely to Al. Every time he passed someone from the Slytherin team, they offered to show him their shiny new Quidditch Cup. It was humiliating.

Four days after the disappointing Quidditch match, Shacklebolt had informed the school that the participants for the IHCE would be announced right after final exams. Al and his friends, without Quidditch practice to interfere, had spent a lot of their free time in the Room of Requirement preparing, though Rose complained often that it cut into her study time. And with the competition growing nearer, Al was more determined than ever to make sure Scorpius had a shot at being a part of it.

Scorpius, however, looked just as unenthusiastic about the idea as he had last time.

“I never said I wanted to compete!” he snapped.

“You never outright said you _didn't_ want to, either,” Al said quickly.

Scorpius stood and glared at him in stony silence for a long moment. Al had trapped him in the enchanted items aisle, which was already narrow to begin with. A ghost floated aimlessly through the bookcase overhead, and somewhere in the library a student sneezed and was hushed impatiently by the librarian.

Abruptly Scorpius slammed the book he'd been rifling through back onto the shelf. “Even if I _was_ curious about this stupid competition-- which I'm not saying I am –why would I want to get stuck with _you_?”

“What other Gryffindor would you rather get stuck with?” Al shot back. “Think. What other second year Gryffindors do you even _talk_ to? At least if we end up on a team together, we won't have to worry about getting jinxed in the back, right?”

“We don't even know if the teams will be split up by year.”

“Okay, maybe not, but what if they _are_?”

Scorpius gave an aggravated sigh. All the fight seemed to drain out of him. “What are you hoping to accomplish by badgering me about this? We don't get to decide who competes.”

“I want you to practice with me,” Al said quickly. “Just in case. And besides, didn't the Headmaster say the Professors would be keeping an eye out for people who might work well together?”

Scorpius blanched. “Are you suggesting we practice in the hallways, Potter? You'll land us both in detention. Not to mention--” he stopped, but Al knew what he was thinking. The Slytherins would not be happy if they found the two of them being even reluctantly cooperative with each other.

Al hesitated. He hadn't actually expected to get Scorpius to this point. He'd become too used to being brushed off. The offer to show him the Room of Requirement floated on the tip of his tongue, but still he held it back. The room was a special hideaway for himself and his friends. It had great meaning to him-- not to mention James, Rose, and his other cousins –because of their parents. Was he ready to let Scorpius in on such a secret? And what if the others found out? They would hit the roof.

Instead, what popped out of his mouth was, “If you're competitive enough to be interested in the IHCE, why do you dislike Quidditch so much?”

Scorpius's eyes narrowed. Then he gave a brief shake of his head, ignoring the question. “Nobody knows what to expect from this dumb contest,” he said firmly, retrieving his book from the shelf. “Before that, we have end of year exams. That's what you should be focused on, Potter. You realize we're both too close to failing Potions for comfort, right?”

Al deflated. Rose and Felicia were already frantic about the exams. He and Andrew had sort of been hoping some last-minute cramming would get them through the nightmare. But if even arrogant, talented Scorpius was concerned, Al thought perhaps it would be wise to finally attend the never ending study sessions Rose had been trying to rope him into ever since he'd been released from Madam Greene's care.

“All right,” he grumbled. “But I hope you find time to practice at least a little before the teams are announced.”

Scorpius sniffed. “Worry about yourself, Potter.” And he brushed past Al, nose in the air.

 

~*~

 

It took a little more work to convince Andrew that Rose's cram sessions were for their own good.

“Just doing homework took us _three hours_ sometimes,” he moaned. “And that was once a week! Now she expects us to study for hours _every day_?”

Al was just as unhappy about it, but knew he had to convince his friend for his own good. “Look, if we don't pass these exams, we could fail. D'you really want to take remedial Potions with Zabini next year? Or worse, redo year two all over again while Felicia and the others go on to year three classes?”

Andrew balked. “They wouldn't hold us back. They can't do that. Can they?”

Al wasn't sure, but he decided scare tactics were probably in order. “Sure they can. Anyway, you want to risk it?”

So they started grudgingly attending Rose and Molly's study groups. It didn't take long for his cousins' desperation to rub off on him. There was so much to study, so much information to stuff into his head and spells to practice, and time suddenly seemed like a precious commodity. He wasn't worried about Charms, and thanks to their practice in the Room of Requirement, they all felt more confident about Defense Against the Dark Arts, but he and Andrew were sweating bullets trying to become temporary experts in Potions, History of Magic, and Transfiguration. Al really wished he could have picked Scorpius's brains for that last one; no one in his study group was very good at it.

“Just wait until your third year,” Molly grumbled, rubbing tiredly at her eyes and staining her face with ink. “You're lucky. You're mostly doing theory now, and really simple surface stuff like changing colors of things. Next year, Al, she'll probably ask you to turn your cat into a saucepan or something.”

Even James, Roxanne, Fred, and Vincent joined them sometimes, mostly to harass Molly for help.

“You have to pick two additional subjects your third year,” James told Al grimly, staring with a look of exhaustion at his stack of books. “Make sure you pick something easy. Don't be a ponce like Molly and pick up Study of Ancient Runes or some such nonsense. And avoid the extra-curriculars if you can. It's not worth it.” And he let his head droop onto his open book with a moan.

Molly sniffed loudly, but didn't comment, her nose buried in her copy of _Solving the Riddle of Runes_.

Louis occasionally made an appearance to lend his expertise in his best subject, Herbology, and beg help from James for DADA. As Al watched the two of them one day going over an enormous tome on vampires, he felt a brief moment of guilt for ever resenting Rose his first year for getting picked for Ravenclaw. He and James might argue a lot, but it would have still been strange and frightening to end up in a different House from his big brother. Louis was in Hufflepuff; he rarely got to hang out with Dominique during school. He seemed to have a lot of friends in his own House. But she never seemed to have had a problem with it, even if a lot of the family had been surprised by what was the first Hufflepuff in the family.

The hours dragged but the days flew by. The entire school seemed to be trapped in a nightmare of endless studying. The only good thing was it meant hardly anyone seemed to care about the Quidditch match anymore. Dominique was unapproachable. She was determined to excel in her NEWTs, and Molly said she almost never came out of the Ravenclaw Common Room outside of class. All the seventh years walked around with a permanent expression of tense fear on their faces.

And then, finally, the exams began. Felicia panicked and made a foolish mistake in Transfiguration that made her burst into tears, and Andrew grimly told Al in an aside that he was sure he'd failed Potions. But DADA was easier for all of them, and by the pleased expression on Professor Flitwick's face, Al was sure he'd made top marks in Charms. Within two days it was over, and everyone let out a long breath they felt like they'd been holding for weeks.

When the results came in, Andrew collapsed dramatically onto the armchair in the common room. They had all managed to pass Potions by the skin of their teeth. “My parents better not give me any grief about it,” he declared. “Not after they see my DADA score. It's loads better than it was last year.”

“Remind me to hug Louis,” Felicia said, beaming at her own parchment of grades. “I wouldn't have done so well in Herbology without him.”

“I think Rose saved all our hides,” Al said, wincing at his Potions score. It was a passing grade, but only just, and he'd done a bit better than Felicia and Andrew because he'd been the only one with a cooperative partner in class. Luckily, his father already had a dislike for Potions thanks to his nightmarish years with Snape as a teacher, so he was sure neither of his parents would mind so long as he passed.

“We need to celebrate,” Andrew declared, sitting up suddenly.

The other Gryffindors seemed to have the same idea. It wasn't long before Fred, Roxanne, Vincent, and James appeared, their arms loaded down with snacks and party favors. The whole House celebrated loudly and happily until Neville finally popped his head in after midnight and begged them to go to bed.

 

~*~

 

Right after breakfast the next day, while the Houses were still picking at their plates and chattering about their exam scores, Professor Shacklebolt rose to his feet at the head table and raised his wand, which emitted a piercing whistle.

Everyone went quiet at once, giving him their undivided attention. Finally, it was time for the announcement they had all been waiting for.

“I want to congratulate you all for working so hard on your exams. And a special nod to Slytherin for winning the Quidditch Cup.” Only the Slytherins cheered. Everyone else sent them unpleasant looks. No one was going to quickly forget their dirty tactics during that last frantic game.

“And now it is time to announce the teams for the Inter-House Cooperation Events.” Shacklebolt's mouth twitched in the hint of a smile. “Or, as we've decided to rename it, the Hogwarts Marathon.”

“Thank goodness,” Andrew murmured. “I was getting tired of correcting Al's acronyms.”

Felicia and Vincent laughed.

“As I mentioned at the beginning of the year, we have all been keeping an eye on potential candidates. We looked for those doing well with spells and problem solving, not to mention a willingness to help others. A dash of competitiveness was also a desired trait. But most of all, we searched for those willing to extend a hand to their fellow students in different Houses. Prefects were asked to come to us with suggestions, and we have had help from others, watching when we could not.” He glanced towards Nearly Headless Nick briefly, another small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Al almost jumped in his seat, his heart giving a little thump of surprise. Hadn't there been a ghost silently observing when Scorpius had defended him from Evaine and the others? And again in the library when he'd tried to convince the boy to practice with him right before the exams. How often had the ghosts been there, watching in the background without anyone giving it another thought?

“First years are still exempt, and many seventh years opted out due to their need to prepare for their NEWTs. And as this is our first attempt, we have decided that rather than divide the teams by years, we will mix them together to give each team a better chance. So there is no need to fear going up against a team with more years of experience in magic. Each team will have both young and older students in it.”

“That's a relief,” Andrew breathed. “Can you imagine going head to head with a pack of seventh years? We'd be toast.”

“Of the names of those that expressed interest, we have chosen ones that seemed like the most likely candidates, and then further narrowed the pool from there to come up with four teams. And so, without further ado...” He motioned to Professor Macmillan, who got up and picked up a floppy object Al hadn't noticed at first-- the Sorting Hat. He went and placed it on the stool where it normally stood at the beginning of every year, then took his seat again.

Everyone stared at the hat, holding their breath. It was silent for several moments, as if relishing the attention. Then the rim split open like a mouth and it boomed out in a surprisingly loud voice that made several students jump, “Team One consists of the following: Dennis York, Slytherin. Beatrice Smalls, Hufflepuff. Greg Thompson, Gryffindor. And Henrietta Williamson, Ravenclaw. Please step forward.”

The tables cheered for their fellow classmates. Al saw a boy he didn't recognize, a fifth year, get up from his table, looking ecstatic, and hurry to join the others up front, where Shacklebolt waved them off in a clump slightly to the side.

“Team Two,” the hat continued. “Rose Weasley, Ravenclaw. Janet Upton, Hufflepuff. Batholomew Grant, Slytherin. Peter Cobbler, Gryffindor.”

Al deflated a little. He and Rose had both hoped to be picked and end up on the same team. But perhaps the faculty thought it unfair to pair up family members. But he clapped enthusiastically as Rose, beet-red in the face, stumbled up from the Ravenclaw table and joined her team.

“Team Three! Vincent Samson, Gryffindor. Prudence Macintosh, Hufflepuff. Teresa Hernandez, Slytherin. And Patrica Havens, Ravenclaw.”

James, Fred, and Roxanne gave piercing whistles, slapping Vincent on the back as he rose with a big grin. Al's hands almost went numb with clapping so hard. Andrew elbowed him in the ribs.

“He's got Teresa on his team,” he hissed, looking concerned. “What if she tries something?”

“They wouldn't have chosen her if they thought she'd do something underhanded,” Al said, trying to sound confident. But he thought about what Rose had said about Teresa's mother and couldn't help but feel a little worried.

After the team had assembled, eyeing each other a little warily, a tense silence fell, all eyes on the hat as they waited to hear the names for the final team.

“Team Four! Scorpius Malfoy, Slytherin.” Al's heart began to pound frantically. “Henry Foggings, Hufflepuff. Bethany Jones, Ravenclaw. And Albus Potter, Gryffindor.”

Al nearly went deaf for a moment when his friends began cheering their heads off around him.

Unwilling to risk a look at his brother-- would James be upset he hadn't been chosen, or angry that Al had been paired up with a Malfoy? --Al got up and went to the front of the hall, his ears ringing and his palms sweaty. He joined the little group, and couldn't help giving Scorpius a quick grin.

Scorpius arched a brow at him, but said nothing. Al, too happy at having been chosen, let it slide, turning his attention on his fellow team members. He vaguely recognized Henry, a talk sixth year. Louis had mentioned him once or twice, and he'd seen the older boy patiently tutoring a pair of nervous first year Gryffindors in the library once. Bethany he knew from Quidditch-- she was one of the Ravenclaw Beaters, a fourth year. She had a mean swing but had always displayed excellent sportsmanship. Neither of them looked very pleased about having two second years on their team.

“Now please go about your day, so that we can speak with our competitors,” Shaklebolt was saying. There was a great deal of scraping benches and excited talk as the rest of the students got up and flooded out of the hall. Shaklebolt turned to the waiting teams and beckoned for them to follow. He led the way into an antechamber, behind a door near the head table Al had never noticed before. Once all the teams were clustered in what looked like a cozy study, Hagrid squeezed his bulk through the doorway and shut the door after himself. Al frowned uneasily when he realized Zabini was already there, standing by a chair with a small wooden box in his dark hands. He met Al's eyes briefly and frowned right back.

Shaklebolt moved to the center of the room where all the team members could see him and clapped his big hands once. “So, students. You are the ones chosen to represent your Houses in this first competition. All of you have shown yourselves to be talented and at least somewhat willing to give members from other Houses a chance.” He gave a small, dry smile. “Even if some of you have not been overly... congenial, you have at least gone out of your way not to encourage or initiate conflict.”

Which, Al thought with an internal wince, was probably as good as the faculty could hope for if they wanted four full teams. He glanced at Rose out of the corner of his eye. She was eyeing her Slytherin team mate warily, and he was giving her a look of open dislike. If he really had been even remotely friendly towards another House member, Al doubted it had been a Gryffindor.

And none of the Gryffindors, he realized suddenly, were ones James had said were Judges. No wonder his brother and the others had been overlooked. He and Fred must be sorely disappointed.

“Here is how this will work.” Shacklebolt clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace slowly back and forth. “The Marathon will kick off this Saturday at ten in the morning. You will all be expected to be grouped and ready to go by the main entrance at nine. There is a tent between Hagrid's hut,” he nodded to the big man, “and the Quidditch field where we will bring you to wait. Each team will go through the Marathon one at a time. You earn points for your team by showing good problem solving skills, magical aptitude, and teamwork. This will be a timed event. You will have half an hour to complete the entire Marathon. You will lose points if you are unable to complete any part of the Marathon in time. For every section of the Marathon you successfully complete, each team member will earn five points for their House. Additional points may be rewarded on an individual basis by the Professors who will be judging the event, in special circumstances.”

“Such as?” the Slytherin Bartholomew asked a little suspiciously.

“Bein' good sports. Impressing the socks off yore Professors,” Hagrid rumbled. “Things like that.”

“You may only bring your wands and, if you wish, your animal companions to the Marathon,” Shacklebolt continued. Al blinked, surprised. The inclusion of their pets was apparently also taking the others off guard. They exchanged puzzled looks with each other. “No brooms, no potions, no books, no trinkets. Except, of course, for these.” He beckoned, and Zabini stepped forward, opening the little box in his hands. Shacklebolt gave his wand a wave, and several small shiny objects flew out and floated to each student.

Al held out his hand, and stared at the thing as it landed in his palm. It was a shining metal pin, not much bigger than a bottlecap, with a big red “4” imprinted on its face. He looked over at Scorpius's; his also had a “4”, but in green.

“These are your team pins,” Shacklebolt explained. “You will wear them on your robes until after the Marathon has ended.” He waited while they all pinned theirs to the front of their robes, then began to slowly pace once more. “Remember, this competition is all about teamwork. All four of you must complete the contest. Leaving a member behind at any time will result in a drastic loss of points. Any questions?”

Rose raised her hand nervously. “Sir? What exactly will be facing in this Marathon?”

“That would be telling, Miss Weasley,” Shacklebolt said seriously, though his eyes danced with amusement. “Suffice it to say, several of our esteemed professors have come up with some interesting challenges for you all. Now, you have four days before the Marathon. I think it would behoove each of you to get to know your team members before then. You are going to have to rely on each other out there.” He nodded, and Hagrid opened the door. “I wish you luck. Dismissed.”

 


	15. Dead Weight

Once the teams had left, they scattered, clumping up briefly to get quick introductions and game plans down. Henry ushered his own teammates to the entrance hall, away from prying ears. “The Headmaster was right,” he said bossily. “We need to know what our capabilities are. I dunno why they stuck two second years on one team. Are Bethany and I going to have to carry you, or do either of you actually know any useful spells?”

Al and Scorpius gave him affronted looks, but before they could reply, Bethany interrupted, “Hang on, who put you in charge?”

“I'm the oldest,” Henry said, as if his reasons should be obvious. “I know more advanced spells than any of you.”

“Well bully for you,” she said, a tad sharply. “I doubt you're an expert in _everything_. What are your weaknesses?”

“That's not...” Henry faltered a moment. “We need to know what we're _good_ at.”

“We need to know what we're bad at,” Bethany corrected. “If I find out you're rubbish with Transfiguration, obviously I'm not going to turn to _you_ for help if we need it in the Marathon. And we'll know not to waste time asking.”

“I'm all right at Transfiguration,” Henry said, looking offended. “What about _you_?”

“I barely passed Defense Against the Dark Arts,” she said promptly. “Also, I'm allergic to dogs, so I'll be depending on you lot to keep them far away from me if we run into any in there.”

“Why would there be dogs in there??”

“I dunno. None of us knows what to expect, that's the point.”

“I stink at Potions,” Al said hastily, hoping to break up the argument. “Scorpius is a little better but...” he glanced at the boy.

“I wouldn't rely on either of us for it,” Scorpius agreed grudgingly. “And I don't care for Herbology, so I won't be stepping up if we come up against a giant man-eating plant.”

Henry frowned, then finally shrugged and admitted with bad grace, “I practically failed Muggle Studies, not that I think that will matter in this, and I'm kind of hit or miss with the more complicated spells in Charms.”

“Right then.” Bethany looked around at them each with raised brows. “I'm decent at Charms, I can make up for that much. Anyone good at DADA?”

“Potter's got excellent marks in Charms,” Scorpius said unexpectedly. “Unless you did better, he should probably be the point man for that.”

“Yes, but I probably know more spells,” Bethany said patiently. “You're only second years; they haven't taught you anything really useful yet.”

“Scorpius is doing really well at Transfiguration,” Al said.

“It's a tricky magic,” Henry said with pursed lips, eyeing Scorpius skeptically. “But I suppose it's good that there will be two of us who can do it.”

“I'm a fair hand at Potions, so you two don't need to worry about that,” Bethany added almost as an afterthought.

Al and Scorpius exchanged an annoyed sideways look. It was obvious neither of the other two were expecting much from them. They were considered unreliable backup.

“It's too bad we didn't get James,” Bethany sighed. “Er, no offense, Al. I mean, it'd be swell if you both grow up as powerful as your dad. But at least your brother has a little more extra schooling.”

Al bit back his retort at the last second. He'd had an unkind impulse to point out that someone from the notorious Judges had no chance of landing a spot in the competition. Instead he chewed on his tongue and fumed in silence.

“Maybe we should all meet up for some kind of practice session,” Henry suggested. “You know, run a quick little course of our own to see how we work together.”

“I'll ask Professor Flitwick about it,” said Bethany. “He might know of a place we can set up for an afternoon.”

Al's mind flashed to the Room of Requirement, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Right, send an owl if he gives us a place.” Henry stood with his hands on his hips, looking them all over with a slight frown. “Well... I guess that's all we can really do for today. I've got to get to class. But see if you can get an answer today, Bethany. That way we can start practicing as soon as possible.”

The two of them began ascending the stairs, still talking about the possible challenges in store and lamenting the fact that they would have to carry the team thanks to their rotten luck of getting stuck with two kids.

Scorpius and Al stood where they were for several minutes in silent indignation.

“Prats,” Scorpius muttered, his ears pink and his brows furrowed. He turned his head to glare at Al. “We have to show them up.”

Al nodded in a rare moment of pure agreement. “If you see a chance to dazzle the Professors out there with some Transfiguration trick, take it,” he said almost grimly. “I'm going to see if my older cousins know any really useful spells I can use out there, too. Dominique's a seventh year-- there's got to be something she can show me that I can pull off.”

The corner of Scorpius's mouth twisted in a brief, unpleasant smile. “Make it something Henry the Enlightened hasn't even learned.”

 

~*~

 

Most of the classes were a lot more relaxed with final exams finished and only a couple weeks left in the school year. Some Professors, like Zabini and the monotonous ghost Binns, continued with normal lessons, but many others had simple assignments, refreshers, or workshops that had advice about the coming year. Macmillan enthusiastically offered extra lessons to any of the Marathon runners, and Al and Rose both promptly promised to drop by when they could.

James seemed to get over his sulking remarkably quickly. During lunch, he sat with Fred, Roxanne, and a clump of older Gryffindors who were intently giving advice and offering support to their House competitors.

It wasn't until dinnertime that one of the school owls fluttered down to the table and thrust out its leg to offer Al a small scrap of parchment. He opened it eagerly. Bethany had apparently managed to convince Flitwick to lend them some aid-- though he was the Ravenclaw Head of House, so perhaps it hadn't taken much convincing at all from one of his own.

_Flitwick says we can use his classroom this evening so long as we clean everything up when we're done and make sure we're back in our common rooms before curfew. Also, he says this doesn't excuse anyone from any homework he might have handed out. Head there straight after supper._

_~Bethany_

Vincent, who happened to be sitting between Al and Felicia, caught a glimpse of the note. “Good idea,” he approved. “Everyone should get in some practice. Make sure you show up the others on the team, Al. No matter what team wins, we've got to make sure the Gryffindor on the team gets the most points.”

Al remembered that Teresa was probably the youngest member on Vincent's team; the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were both sixth years. “Is your team going to practice too? I bet they think Teresa's going to hold them back.”

“Nah, they're just glad they only got one second year.” Vincent's eyes twinkled. “I suspect you and Malfoy aren't too popular right now.”

“Not really.”

Vincent laughed. “Don't worry, I'm sure you'll impress 'em. And yes, we're meeting up before breakfast tomorrow to practice.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “I am _not_ looking forward to getting up that early, but Havens, the Ravenclaw, refused to do anything tonight because of homework.”

Al nodded, distracted. He was facing the Slytherin table and saw that Scorpius had just gotten his own owl. The other boy perused the note, took one last drink from his goblet, and got up. “I have to go,” Al said hastily, shoveling down the rest of his potatoes and stuffing a roll into his pocket as he slid off the bench and hurried to catch up.

He met up with Scorpius at the door, and though Scorpius barely spared him a glance, they made their way to Professor Flitwick's Charms classroom together.

Bethany was already there, half a sandwich in one hand while she waved her wand with the other to move everything from the center of the room off to the side to give them room to work. “Oh, 'lo, boys,” she said around a mouthful of bread. “Gimmie a tick.” She finished what she was doing and wolfed down the rest of her sandwich. Brushing her hands off on her robes, she looked from them to the door with a raised brow, unable to speak with her mouth so full.

Al guessed the unspoken question. “I assume Henry's on his way.” Bethany nodded, flapping her hand towards the desks, and Al took a seat to wait. Scorpius, meanwhile, prowled the room slowly, eyes flickering around as if looking for something he could incorporate into their practice.

They didn't have long to wait. Henry came jogging in five minutes later, still licking chocolate off his fingers. “Right, everyone's here? Let's get started then,” he said with enthusiasm, shutting the door firmly behind himself.

Al took out his wand, fiddling with it nervously. He and Scorpius had been nettled by their thinly-veiled scorn before, but the thought of actually trying to do magic with more advanced students made him suddenly self-conscious. “Erm, so what are we going to be working on?”

Henry and Bethany exchanged a quick look. “First, we think it'd be best if you two demonstrated a couple things for us. Just, you know, so we have an idea where you're at.”

Al pressed his lips together tightly. So, the two of them had made plans themselves. They wanted to know the limits of their younger teammates sooner rather than later, so they knew how hard they'd have to work on their own. He noticed Scorpius was scowling behind Henry's back.

“Malfoy said you're good with Charms,” Bethany said, motioning Al to come forward and reminding him eerily of a Professor. “Let's see it then. Show us one you're good at.”

Al obediently got up and went to stand in the middle of the room, feeling heat creeping up his neck with three sets of eyes watching his every move. His mind was blank. What was he supposed to show them that would be a good example of his skill? Something tricky that his cousins had taught him? Or something simple but strong, like _Protego_?

“Come on, then,” Bethany said a bit impatiently. She tapped her wand against her palm like a ruler, and several golden sparks shot out.

Al grasped desperately for an idea, then remembered the Charm Flitwick had mentioned in an off-hand way just a few weeks before the exam. He'd picked the brains of everyone he knew until he'd struck gold with Dominique, who admitted having seen her father use it before. Al had since practiced it several times in the Room of Requirement with Vincent. It was a little difficult, not to mention dangerous, but it might do the trick of impressing the upperclassmen.

“Ok, um... You'll have to stand aside.”

Bethany arched a brow, looking amused, but moved off to the side.

Trying to ignore the other three, Al took a deep breath and pointed his wand like a sword. With a quick jab, he cried, “ _ Baubillious _ !”

A thin bolt of lightning arced out of his wand with an almost deafening crack, crashing against Flitwick's podium and knocking it over. Bethany jumped so hard she fell over the desk she'd been leaning against, and Al heard Henry swear in surprise behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Scorpius actually looked almost... impressed.

He looked back towards the podium quickly. He'd set one of the training dummies on fire once, but luckily the worst the podium seemed to have suffered was a dark burn mark that was smoking faintly.

“Nice one, Potter,” Henry congratulated, sounding much friendlier than he had that morning. He strode over to the podium and straightened it back up. He tapped the wood and muttered a word, and the burn mark vanished.

Bethany regained both her balance and her dignity, stepping away from the desk and looking from the podium to Al with shrewd appraisal. “That could really come in handy if things get sticky,” she admitted. “Just make sure you give us ample warning if you ever use it. Where on earth did you learn that? I can't see Flitwick teaching something that dangerous to second-years.”

“His dad's an Auror,” Henry pointed out, coming back to join them. “Bet he's mentioned all sorts of interesting stuff to you, eh? I should've thought of that.”

Al shrugged, keeping his face serious despite the fact that he wanted to give a triumphant cheer. He decided not to bring up Dominique's name. He didn't want to inadvertently get her into trouble.

“All right, Malfoy. Transfiguration's your thing, is it?” Henry cast about and plucked an inkwell from a nearby desk, setting it on the floor at his feet. “Go on, then, dazzle us.”

Scorpius stepped forward, slowly drawing his wand. His face was inscrutable, but he certainly didn't look as nervous as Al had felt. He pointed his wand at the inkwell. “ _ Flintifors _ ,” he muttered. Al barely had time to blink; suddenly instead of an inkwell, there was a matchbox on the floor.

Bethany blew out a disappointed sigh. “Is that all?”

“Hold on.” Henry scooped it up and opened it, his eyebrows lifting slightly when he saw there were in fact matches inside. He took one out and struck it against the side of the box and looked even more impressed when it lit. “Huh.” He shook out the match, eyeing Scorpius with interest. “That's tricky, that is. I've used that spell before, on a spool of thread. Even got it to turn into a matchbox. An empty matchbox. Only person in my class who made matches show up in theirs couldn't get 'em to light.” He tossed the matches to Bethany. “It looks simple, but that's a complicated formula to get right. There's tons of math and science in Transfiguration that makes it easy to botch and hard to master.”

“I suppose,” Bethany said slowly, looking thoughtful. “What about Conjuration and the other branches of Transfiguration? Any good at those?”

“We haven't learned Human Transfiguration yet,” Scorpius admitted, still cool as a cucumber. “But I can do one or two Conjuration spells.”

“Excellent!” Henry rubbed his hands together eagerly. “We may have a chance after all! Oh, and just to show we're not blowing hot air ourselves...” He took out his wand and pointed it at Bethany. “ _Confundus_.”

She juggled the matchbox clumsily, dropped it, then banged her head on a desk when leaning over to get it. “Sorry,” he said quickly when she shot him a glare, rubbing at her smarting temple.

She jerked her own wand up. “ _ Expelliarmus _ .”

His wand flicked into the air and went clattering across the room. As he hurried, red-faced, to retrieve it, Bethany turned to Al and Scorpius, still clasping a hand to her head. “Right, so whoever picked you two knew what they were doing. Sorry if we've been a little...well, stand-offish. Can you blame us, really? Most second years can't tell their wand from their toothbrush.”

“What she said,” Henry agreed, returning with wand in hand. “I say we try to meet up every evening this week and do a little practice. We can do it in pairs, opposing each other, so we get used to working together.”

“Sounds good,” Al agreed. Scorpius shrugged.

“All right, then, same time same place tomorrow. I've got a, er, prior engagement. See you then.” Flashing a smile, Henry departed.

“Prior engagement, hah,” Bethany snorted. “He's off to snog that airhead girlfriend of his.” She put her wand away. “Well, see you two tomorrow, then. Good night.”

Then she left as well, and it was just Al and Scorpius. They stood in uncertain silence for a few moments, then Al couldn't quite stifle a giggle.

“Guess we showed them,” he said, grinning at the other boy.

Scorpius gave him a superior look, but it was ruined by the very faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Well, one of us did, anyway...”

“Oh, come off it,” Al snorted, indicating Flitwick's podium. “That was good, yeah? Though you were being modest before when you said you didn't need help in Transfiguration. That was some pretty advanced magic for a second year. I can never get all those formulas right. Only one in our family I can think of that's that good is Fred, maybe. But that's probably because his dad's a whiz at that kind of stuff.”

Scorpius shrugged, looking away. “We'll have to assume the other two are about average. They didn't show us anything unusual. Still, I suppose we'll manage all right, unless they put something very dangerous or very tricky in there.”

“I don't think it'll be too bad,” Al said with more confidence than he really felt. “I mean, this is the test run, isn't it? I bet if they decide to continue it next year, it'll be loads harder then.”

“Hm.” Scorpius put his wand away.

“I wonder if things are going to get as competitive as they do before Quidditch matches,” Al mused, leading the way to the door. “That could get pretty dicey.”

“Don't be daft.” Scorpius gave him an impatient look. “With each team made up of one from each House, they'd run the risk of sabotaging one of their own-- or turning the other Houses against them.”

“Oh, that's right. I guess the Headmaster really knew what he was doing with all of this.”

“Time will tell,” Scorpius said mysteriously. “And we may be teammates, but this still doesn't make us friends, Potter, so don't try chatting with me between classes about whatever inane babble amuses you, got it?” And he walked off down the hall without a backwards, leaving Al still struggling to think up a proper retort.

 

~*~

 

Al's team wasn't the only one with a plan for evening practice sessions. The other three teams could often be seen hurrying off together for their own secret meetings. And Scorpius was proved correct; no one interfered, jinxed, threatened, or taunted any member of the teams-- or at least, not that Al saw or heard of. If there had been an attempt, it had been quickly squashed.

For the next few days, Al didn't get to see any of his friends or cousins outside of the classroom and during mealtimes. Every spare moment was taken up by meeting up with his team to practice, discuss tactics and possible upcoming challenges, and get a basic understanding of each other.

Scorpius, though never outright rude or antagonistic, remained aloof and borderline bored with the whole thing. Henry and Bethany continued a subtle bid for some kind of leadership of the team, and Al showed off and practiced every flashy Charm he could think of to keep his older teammates from seeing him as dead weight.

“At least you and Malfoy can be civil to each other,” Vincent sighed during dinner on the last day before the Marathon. He seemed as on edge as Al felt with the competition looming on the horizon.

“Has Teresa been a pain to work with?” Andrew asked, looking over from where he was splitting an enormous blackberry pie with Felicia.

“No, she barely says two words to me, let alone the other two.” Vincent picked at his sprouts without interest. “But Patricia Havens, the Ravenclaw, is a pompous bully. She thinks she's smarter than the rest of us put together. And sometimes I think she's right. She's a great witch, I'll give her that much. And she's a sixth-year, so she can do a lot of nonverbal spells. But she's constantly bossing us about and getting mad about anything less than perfect. Teresa doesn't respond to it at all, and Prudence, the Hufflepuff, just keeps trying to play peacemaker.”

“You're the only boy on your team, yeah?” Andrew grinned. “Bet that's awkward.”

Vincent shrugged. “Yeah, but not for the reasons you'd think. None of 'em talk to me much. I get the feeling they assume I was part of the Judges because I'm chummy with James and the others. Doesn't help my case that I know some pretty good jinxes.”

“Well Henry and Bethany aren't too happy about having two second-years on their team,” Al said glumly. “Every time I think we've got them to accept that we're halfway decent, I hear 'em whispering about carrying us through the Marathon.”

“Well you're just gonna have to do better than them,” James said stoutly. He reached over and stole a roll from his brother's plate. “Both of you better be awesome out there. We need all the help we can get, points-wise. We're in third place with Hufflepuff catching up quick; this is our last chance to push ahead, so do something fantastic and impress the Professors, okay?”

“Or, barring that, let your Ravenclaw teammates look like heroes,” Fred said grimly. “Because I really don't think I could handle Slytherin winning the Quidditch Cup _and_ the House Cup.”

“Zabini's been handing out a lot of points to Slytherin this year,” Roxie sighed. “Probably as revenge for the Judges picking on his House last year.” She looked towards the head table to glare at Zabini and frowned slightly. “I didn't notice the Headmaster leave early. I could've sworn he and Professor Flitwick were there earlier...”

Al grimaced. He'd glanced towards the Hufflepuff table and realized Henry's seat was empty. “Looks like the others are in a hurry to get to practice. Last chance to, before tomorrow. See you. Good luck, Vincent.” He took one last bite of his turkey and got up, hastening from the hall.

He didn't make it far. A first-year Al didn't recognize came jogging up to him in the hall. “Albus Potter?” he asked breathlessly, red-faced from his rush. His eyes flicked to the pin on Al's robes. “The Headmaster wants to see you in his office. Says the password's 'whomping willow'.”

Al opened his mouth to ask what the Headmaster could want with him-- was this why he'd slipped away early from dinner? --but the younger boy was already rushing away. Reluctantly, Al made his way towards Shacklebolt's office, wracking his brain. Had he broken any rules lately? Had James? What if his teammates had begged to have him replaced?

“Whomping willow,” he said to the gargoyle guarding the office stairs. It sprang aside obediently, and he started up the steps, heart pounding. He'd never been called to the Headmaster's office before. He hoped fervently that he was not in trouble. He was only halfway up when he had to move aside for someone coming down.

It was Teresa Hernandez. She glanced sideways at him, but passed him without comment. Puzzled, Al continued to the top of the stairs to find the office door wide open. He slipped inside, his eyes darting around curiously.

It was a very neat and orderly room. There was a large handsome desk, a couple leather armchairs before it, and several shelves and cabinets for paperwork and clutter. The wall behind the desk was decorated with commendations, trophies, and souvenirs from Shacklebolt's time with the Ministry. The walls were lined with the portraits of former Headmasters. Some were visiting each other, speaking in low tones, others were watching Al with mild curiosity. A couple were empty. Al's gaze lingered for a moment on Professor Dumbledore's. The old man in the portrait smiled at him in a friendly manner. The frame beside him was temporarily blank, its occupant off visiting another portrait. Al stared at the small plaque below it, feeling oddly uncomfortable. _Severus Snape_.

“Come in, Potter,” said a squeaky voice.

Al gave a small start and turned his attention to the two men in the room. Flitwick was seated in one of the armchairs, barely visible over the armrest, and Shacklebolt was coming out from behind his desk. He looked at Al a moment, then opened a small sack he was carrying, pulled something small out, and handed it to Flitwick. While the diminutive Charms Professor held it, touching his wand to it and murmuring some complicated spell, Shacklebolt beckoned Al closer and began speaking in his slow, deep voice.

“One person from each team will be receiving a special token,” he said. “You are to keep this meeting and the token's existence a secret for now. During the Marathon you will have the option to disclose this information, but it is up to you whether or not you choose to do so.” Flitwick finished his spell and handed the result over to Shacklebolt, who in turn offered it to Al.

Al took it, puzzled. It was some sort of card, not much bigger than a business card. On one side there was a beautifully colored image of a red lion, and “Gryffindor” spelled out in glittering letters below it and a large number four above. On the other side was the Hogwarts crest, with all four House animals displayed.

“It's called a Last Chance card. You will keep this hidden on your person during the Marathon. If you choose to keep it hidden and present it to the judges after the Marathon, you will earn Gryffindor forty points.”

Al looked up quickly in surprise. Forty points! That could help his House win the Cup, if he and the other Gryffindors in the Marathon managed to net enough extra points individually as well.

“However, you also have the option to tear the card in half at any time during the Marathon,” Shacklebolt continued. “This will evenly distribute the points, ten apiece, to each House.” He spread his hands. “It is up to you. You may make your decision during the Marathon. There is no 'right' decision. If you fear you are not earning enough points on your own, it is a good way to give a boost to your House. If you feel you do not need the points, or wish to share them, that is up to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Al said, wondering who would be daft enough to tear the card. He was willing to bet all his pocket money that Teresa would be keeping hers-- and probably Ravenclaw, as well, being so close to the House Cup already.

“Very good. Remember, you are not to mention this until the Marathon-- and you are not obligated to do so then. Have a good evening. Good luck, Mr. Potter.”

“Thank you,” Al mumbled. He hurried out, stuffing the card in his pocket, his heart beating with excitement. All he had to do was impress the Professors and hang onto the card, and Gryffindor might actually have a chance to win the Cup this year. James and the others would be ecstatic. And everyone would know it was he, Al, who had netted so many last-minute points for the House.

He made his way to Flitwick's classroom, where the rest of his team was waiting impatiently for his arrival, and kept the secret of the Last Chance bottled up inside, where it helped soothe his nervous anticipation with hope.

 


	16. The Hogwarts Marathon

Al was awakened the next morning by James rolling him right out of bed.

His legs tangled in the sheets on the way down, and he woke everyone else in the dormitory up with his furious yelling.

“I tried shaking you,” Andrew insisted, obviously trying very hard not to laugh as he helped Al disentangle himself. “But you were dead to the world, mate. You stayed up way too late last night.”

“I couldn't sleep,” Al said after a jaw-cracking yawn. He'd been too nervous to sleep. He'd stayed up discussing possible spells and tactics with the other Gryffindor competitors, and hadn't gone to bed until Fred had threatened to carry him up to the dormitory at twelve in the morning. But sleep had still eluded him; he'd tossed and turned for almost another two hours.

“You'd better not fall asleep in the middle of the Marathon,” James said, hauling Al to his feet.

Al pushed him away, rubbing his sandy eyes. “What time is it?”

Vincent tossed him his robes. “Eight. We have enough time to get ready and eat. C'mon, might as well have a big breakfast. It'll probably be a late lunch today.”

 

Despite being a Saturday, the rest of the school was already up as well. The hall was filled with excited chatter as the other students waited with eager anticipation for the Marathon to begin. The contestants, however, were mostly quiet. Some, like Al, looked bleary-eyed. He noticed that Vincent was eating mechanically, as if he was only doing so because he had to, and the other two Gryffindor competitors were staring at their plates and barely eating anything.

“Are you really bringing your cat?” Andrew asked with a note of disbelief in his voice. He was eyeing Trinity, whom Al had brought down to breakfast. She was currently sitting on the bench between Al and Felicia, eyes half hooded, tail lazily swinging back and forth.

“They said I could,” Al muttered, but didn't elaborate. He wasn't sure if bringing her would actually be any help, but he'd made up his mind at the last minute. He kept thinking of that day in Potions when Scorpius had suggested she'd actually somehow helped them out with their ingredients. Crazy, maybe, but he felt he would need all the help he could get.

“Come on, Al,” Felicia wheedled. She offered him a bowl of berries for his oatmeal. “You'll need your strength.”

“At least have some toast,” Andrew said, stacking Al's plate with five pieces and slapping a wedge of butter on top. “Remember what Vincent said. You won't get to eat until after the Marathon, and who knows how long it's gonna take?”

“At least two hours,” Vincent said, nibbling on a piece of bacon for a moment before putting it back down. He looked a little nauseous. “Each team gets half an hour.”

Al stared at his food and didn't touch it. “What if I throw up?” He was remembering his first Quidditch game earlier in the year, when he had done just that. He heard James snort into his cup, though he miraculously didn't say a teasing word.

“You won't throw up,” Andrew said firmly. He nudged the plate of toast closer. “C'mon. Eat. Otherwise I'll ask your cousins to force-feed you.”

Fred and Roxie cracked their knuckles, grinning widely.

Al made a face at them, but obediently began to eat. Nothing seemed to have any flavor, but he managed to get two pieces of toast and half a bowl of oatmeal down.

“What's _he_ doing here?” James hissed suddenly, glaring over Al's shoulder.

Al turned. Scorpius had approached the Gryffindor table but was hanging back. He shot James an unfriendly look, then turned his attention on Al. “Let's go. Henry and Bethany are already heading for the entrance. I guess they want a meeting before we have to go down there.”

Al's heart began to thud. He put down his toast and got to his feet, glad his robes hid how shaky his legs had suddenly become.

“Good luck, Al!” Felicia said, clasping his hand briefly in encouragement.

“Blow 'em out of the water!” Andrew cheered.

Al managed a weak, tight-lipped smile. He gathered Trinity in his arms and followed Scorpius out of the hall, feeling several eyes on his back.

Scorpius glanced down at Trinity, but didn't say anything. Perhaps he, too, was thinking of that odd day in Potions.

Team One was also already in the foyer, grouped near the stairs and whispering together. Henry and Bethany were closer to the front door, and flagged the others down with big, impatient motions. Bethany had a large barn owl perched on her shoulder, its head swiveling around as if it was looking for eavesdroppers.

“Right,” Henry breathed once the four of them were huddled together like a team before a game. “This is it.” His eyes were bright with excitement. Bethany kept chewing nervously on her fingernails, then jerking her hand down. “The plan is to watch each others' backs in there and play to your strengths. Remember, no one can get left behind.” His eyes flickered between Al and Scorpius. “That means even if anyone gets scared or can't figure out what to do, stick with it. Someone else will take care of it, and we'll all get out of this with a nice set of points for our Houses.”

Scorpius bared his teeth briefly, his eyes narrowed. He made a sound in his throat, but must have choked back his response, because he said nothing. Al found that his renewed irritation at Henry's heavy hinting that the upperclassmen would end up saving the day helped take the edge off his own nervousness.

“We'll be fine,” he said shortly.

“Is that cat going to be any use?” Bethany asked suddenly, eyeing Trinity with a small frown. “What if something scares her and she bolts?” She reached up to stroke her owl's head. “Livingston here should prove really handy, I think. But a cat..?”

“She's really smart,” Al said defensively. He could feel Trinity purring against his chest. “The Headmaster said we could bring our pets, so I'm bringing her. We may be glad we did.”

Bethany snorted but didn't say anything further. Livingston turned his head 180 degrees to eye Trinity with suspicion. He clacked his beak in a derisive manner.

“Here come the other teams,” Henry said suddenly. “It must almost be time.”

The competitors were all in the front hall now, clumped together and whispering nervously. Henry kept hissing advice, instructions, and warnings, reminding Al uncannily of Lucas before Quidditch matches. Finally Bethany, who had started chewing her nails again, told him sharply to shut his trap before he made everyone more on edge than they already were. They might have started bickering, but thankfully at that moment the front doors opened and Hagrid's huge form stood framed in the doorway.

He beamed around at them all for a moment, then stood aside, sweeping his arm towards the door. “Come on, now, you lot! Follow me.”

Hagrid led them outside and down towards his hut. Al couldn't help but crane his neck trying to get a glimpse of the Quidditch field where he could see students starting to head in excited laughing groups. Something looked different about the field, but he couldn't see well with the distance and the stands in the way. Then the path wove downhill and it was lost from sight.

Not far from Hagrid's run-down hut was a tent large enough to comfortably fit all four teams. Al followed his teammates in, glancing around. There was a long, low table set out with snacks and drinks, and plenty of chairs. There were even posts set up for owls-- Al saw that two other students had brought theirs, and the Hufflepuff on Rose's team was clutching a large white rat.

Hagrid poked his head in and gave everyone an encouraging smile. “Right, then. You'll go in order, so Team One's first, o' course. As soon as the school's settled in the stands, I'll bring y'there. The rest o' you wait here 'til I come to get ya.” And he withdrew.

Ignoring the disapproving stares of her teammates, Rose sidled up to Al. Her smile was a little tremulous. “I kind of regret now ever saying I'd like to try this competition,” she whispered. “I'm so worried I'll make a fool of myself out there, or be no use at all. And in front of the whole school...” She shuddered. “Is this what you feel like before Quidditch games?”

“Yes.” Al set Trinity on the ground so she could wander freely. “This isn't quite as bad, though. Partly because we can't see what the other teams are doing, I guess.”

Bethany stepped forward and flapped her hand at Rose in a shooing gesture. “Go on, go on, stick with your own team.”

“She's my cousin,” Al said hotly. “And she's not Gryffindor, so what's it matter if we talk?”

“It's all right,” Rose said quietly. “I think Bartholomew wants to have another meeting anyway, since we'll be second.” She nodded to the tall Slytherin on her team, who was frowning in their direction. She stooped to give Trinity a quick pet, then hurried back to her team.

Al glanced around and caught Vincent's eye. The older boy tipped him an encouraging wink, then turned back to speak with Prudence. Al noted with an odd twinge of annoyance that the curly-haired Hufflepuff was showing all her teeth in a bright smile and talking to him animatedly, her eyes never leaving Vincent's face.

Deliberately turning his back on them, Al considered the table. He hadn't eaten much. He really should try to get more food in his stomach. But he didn't feel remotely hungry.

Scorpius didn't seem to have the same problem, however. He brushed past Al and sat down, helping himself to slice of pound cake. The only other person to follow suit was Dennis, the Slytherin from Team One. He sat and began packing away food as if he thought famine was one of the upcoming obstacles.

Henry and Bethany were whispering together, gesticulating wildly as they went over tactics yet again, so Al sat next to Scorpius. “How can you even eat?” he murmured. “One minute I feel like I'll barf if I eat anything, the next I feel like my stomach's just this empty hollow that'll never be hungry again.”

“Don't be dramatic,” Scorpius said coolly, reaching for the pumpkin juice. “All we can do is our best. There's no point worrying so much. Besides, even if you trip over your own feet or blast your cat's ears off on accident, someone else here is sure to do something just as dumb. You'll only make things harder for yourself if you're too stressed out to focus.”

Al made a face at him. It was a mature view, but it irritated him that Scorpius could be so calm when almost everyone else was jumpy with anticipation. “I suppose you think you'll perform flawlessly, then?”

“Only if you don't faint in there and distract me,” he said into his cup.

Al wondered briefly if he could be disqualified for jinxing a member of his own team.

 

The next twenty minutes or so seemed to stretch on forever. Then, finally, Hagrid popped his head in once again. “Team One, let's go!” he said loudly.

Dennis jumped up from the table, spilling his drink everywhere. Herding his team ahead of him with sharp words and shoves, he followed them all out of the tent. Al caught a glimpse of the Ravenclaw on his team patting her pocket nervously. Was she hiding a Last Chance?

“And now we wait,” Henry sighed, taking a seat on Al's other side. He began picking at a bit of salad without actually eating it, his eyes glued unseeing to the tabletop. After a moment, Bethany sat down next to him, her eyes drifting towards the table's centerpiece, which Al hadn't noticed until now. It was a large hourglass. A few minutes later he heard the roar of the crowd, and the hourglass spun in midair, then landed with a thump as golden sand began to flow downwards.

“Half an hour, then we're up,” he heard Rose say to her team. “Anyone have any last minute advice?”

Trinity leapt up onto Al's lap and made herself comfortable, eyes slitted shut as she purred in a rumbling, friendly way. He began to pet her automatically, a little comforted by her presence.

The thirty minutes dragged on. Every now and then they'd hear a great shout from the students in the stands, and once a faint crack. A spell? Or something else? There was a voice he could almost make out over the crowd, an announcer perhaps. The thirty minutes were almost up when the crowd screamed in what sounded more like fear than anticipation, and everyone in the tent jumped.

“Wonder what the last feat is,” Al said, his voice shaking slightly.

“We'll be fine,” Henry said bracingly. He'd gone very pale.

The sand ran out. There was a groan from the crowd, then applause. Then silence followed by a clamor of surprise. Had the Ravenclaw presented her Last Chance? Or had someone done some impressive feat at the last moment?

Hagrid pushed the tent flap aside. “Team Two!” He paused, looking in surprise at the expressions on everyone's faces. “Blast. One sec.” He ducked out, and they heard him calling for Professor Flitwick. There was a hushed conversation, then--

Al looked up sharply. There was no noise at all from outside. Not the distant sound of the crowd or Hagrid moving about.

Hagrid reappeared with a sheepish grin. “Sorry 'bout that. Looks like they forgot to put a silencin' spell up around the tent. A'right, Team Two, up and at 'em!”

“Good luck,” Al whispered to Rose as she passed, visibly trembling.

Not being able to hear the crowd's reaction helped calm the remaining two teams a bit. Bethany moved away to speak briefly with the Ravenclaw on Vincent's team about their exam scores, and Al actually managed to eat a few strawberries. Scorpius didn't seem up to talking, and Prudence still had Vincent trapped in a conversation, so Al gave Trinity a bit of milk and then dangled a string for her to play with for awhile.

The sand ran out once more, and Hagrid came for Team Three. “Good luck,” Al said again quickly as Vincent passed. Vincent nodded, attempting a weak smile. Then he and his team were gone.

Henry got up abruptly and began pacing with furious energy. Bethany took out her wand and began doing simple spells to practice. Trinity grew bored with the string and instead invited herself into Scorpius's lap. He sat stiffly for a minute or two, then began to pet her almost cautiously. Hiding a smile, Al moved away. He was afraid if he said anything, Scorpius would push the cat away. Instead he went over to Bethany and watched her perform a few spells. Finally she suggested they try a mock duel and try to disarm each other.

“Time's up,” Scorpius said eventually.

The sand had run out. All the other teams were done. They all exchanged harried looks, and a moment later Hagrid's bushy head appeared. “Team Four, you ready?”

“Here goes nothing,” Bethany breathed. She clicked her tongue, and Livingston swooped over from his perch to settle on her outstretched arm.

Al retrieved Trinity from Scorpius's lap, knowing she could feel his heart pounding, and followed his silent teammates out of the tent.

Hagrid smiled encouragingly at Al and started walking, leading them towards the Quidditch field. They practically had to jog to keep up.

“Don't be afraid to ask for help,” Henry said abruptly, eyes glued to the stands up ahead. “Any of you.”

“And you,” Bethany said, sharper than necessary. Henry didn't answer.

Then they'd reached the field, and they all stopped dead to stare.

The entire field inside the stands had been surrounded with a stone wall that looked at least ten feet tall. Right in front of them was a door. The crowd, spotting them, began to cheer.

Flitwick was standing by the door. “Remember,” he squeaked, “you have half an hour to complete the trials set out before you. If you ever hit a trial that you cannot see your way out of, shoot sparks into the air and the way will be cleared for you to go on ahead. Be warned, however, that you can only do this once, and you will lose points for doing so. If you still have not finished the whole Marathon by the end of the half hour, you will lose points for any portions left unfinished. And remember-- if any member of your team is left behind, that also results in loss of points, especially for the members of the team that went on ahead. Good luck!” He tapped the door with his wand and it swung open.

Al and his teammates exchanged looks of mixed determination and fright. Then Henry took in a shaking breath and marched through the door. The others hastened to follow.

The door boomed shut behind them, and Al jumped. The team clumped together, looking around warily as they drew their wands. They were in a large stone room with no ceiling so the audience could watch. The giant wall surrounding the field wasn't just a wall after all, Al realized. It was sectioned into rooms for separate challenges.

“And here's Team Four, our last team for the Hogwart's Marathon!” boomed Professor Macmillan's voice from somewhere overhead. “With Henry Foggings from Hufflepuff, Bethany Jones from Ravenclaw, Albus Potter from Gryffindor, and Scorpius Malfoy representing Slytherin. Let's all wish them good luck!” The crowd sent up another cheer.

Al was barely paying attention. He was looking around for a threat or a puzzle. There was another door on the far wall, firmly closed. And between them and the door was a barrel.

“What d'you suppose is in there?” he asked hesitantly.

Henry eyed it distrustfully, then gave it a wide berth and tried the door. It refused to budge.

Bethany edged over to the barrel, staring at it. “It's sealed.” She paused, then bent over, listening intently. “Something's inside, I think. Do we have to open it?”

Scorpius was looking high and low. Finally he shrugged. “There's nothing else in here. Whatever's in there, we probably need to deal with it before moving on.”

“Great.” Henry raised his wand. “Stand back, Bethany.”

She scrambled backwards, crying, “No, idiot, wait--!”

“ _Reducto!_ ” Henry shouted, blasting the barrel apart.

Out swarmed a dozen creatures with wings, bright green and not much bigger than a man's thumb. They buzzed around the room frantically, but any who went up encountered some sort of magical shield that bounced them back. Bethany shrieked, flapping her arms frantically as the things flew all around her, tugging at her hair, howling and laughing in tiny little voices. Livingston leapt from her and began to beat the air with his wings, scattering the things with his backdraft.

Al dropped Trinity and covered his own head as a handful of the things zoomed at him. They jabbed and tugged at him, buzzing like a swarm of wasps. “What are they?” he yelled. “Get off!”

“Some kind of pixie!” Scorpius shouted, ducking hastily when two of them tried to divebomb him.

Trinity was spinning in place, spitting and clawing at any of the pixies that got too close.

“What are we supposed to do?” Henry bellowed. Then, “Ouch! It bit me!”

Al twisted and turned, flailing much as Bethany was. He desperately tried to think of a solution, of some spell that might help, but all he could think about was protecting his face.

“If you hadn't blown up the barrel, we could've put them back inside!” Bethany practically screamed, huddling against the wall while Livingston bravely continued to flap near her head, keeping the little monsters at bay.

Her words finally gave Al an idea. Smacking a pixie aside, he pointed his wand hastily at the barrel. “ _Reparo!_ ” The shattered bits sprang back together instantly.

“Good one, Potter,” Henry whooped. “Now how do we-- ouch! --get the buggers back _in_ there?”

Scorpius yanked his robes over his head so he was left in his trousers and shirt. He tapped his robes with his wand, and a moment later it had transformed into a bulky net.

“Ow!” Al yelped as one of the pixies latched onto his earlobe with sharp little teeth. He smacked it away, and Trinity pounced on it with a hiss.

“Help me!” Scorpius commanded. Henry hurried over, still yelping and swatting at his attackers, and took one end of the net. Together they swung it through the air, trying to catch as many pixies as possible. Bethany bent and began grabbing all the ones that her owl had stunned, and Al tried to snatch some out of the air. Together they all thrust the pixies into the barrel until they were all trapped again, and Henry slammed the lid back on.

They stood panting, all of them with stinging little cuts and bites. Then the door swung open.

“Fast thinking on Scorpius Malfoy's part!” came Macmillan's cheery voice, almost giving Al a heart attack. He'd almost forgotten they were being watched. The crowd cheered as Macmillan continued, “Good show, good show. The point of this room was, of course, to trap or immobilize the pixies in some way. The judges are deliberating... Right, first room cleared, so that's five points for each team member's House. And it looks like an additional five for Malfoy! Transfiguration under pressure is very tricky, especially for a second-year. Excellent!”

Scorpius didn't seem to be paying attention. He transfigured his net back into robes and pulled them back over his head, still breathing hard.

“No more exploding things,” Bethany hissed, jabbing Henry in the chest. “Especially without warning us first!” She held out her arm for Livingston and stormed through the door. Red-faced, Henry followed without a word to the others.

Al and Scorpius looked at each other for a moment.

“Good work,” Al said.

Scorpius shrugged, glancing at the repaired barrel. “Well, maybe that'll put those two in their place. Bethany's owl was more useful than she was, and Henry's going to botch things up if he keeps going off half-cocked for the rest of this Marathon.”

“It stinks having upperclassmen on the team,” Al sighed dramatically. “We'll have to babysit them every step of the way.”

Scorpius hurried into the next room, but from the look on his face, Al suspected his abrupt retreat was an attempt to hide a laugh. Grinning, Al collected Trinity and ran to catch up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more chapters to go~


	17. The Grey Guardian

“We need to pick up the pace,” Henry was saying as Al entered the next room. “Remember, we only have thirty minutes, and we have no idea how many challenges there are.”

Al looked around tensely. There were several small benches scattered around, and every one of them was absolutely covered in clutter: everything from plates to quills to discarded laundry. Scorpius walked over to the nearest bench and hesitantly picked up a pot lid, studying it. He and Al exchanged a puzzled glance.

“There's a note,” Bethany said suddenly, striding over to the exit door. She snatched up a bit of parchment nailed to it and read it quickly while Henry took a closer look at the door.

“There's no door handle,” he exclaimed, running his fingers over a strange groove. “Just this hollow shape. D'you think something goes in here?”

“Listen,” Bethany interrupted, and read aloud, “ _If you wish to exit soon, cast your eyes about the room. Things aren't what they seem to be; look and you will find a key._ ” She paused, then looked up helplessly. “That's all it says.”

Al went to join Henry at the door, with Scorpius trailing behind. Henry was right-- there was no handle. Instead, in the middle of the door was a brass plaque with an odd curved indent. “There's got to be something in here shaped like that. I guess we just find it and put it in there.”

Scorpius ran his fingers along the groove for a moment, then turned away and began digging through the contents of the nearest bench.

“Come on, everyone start looking,” Henry said quickly, heading for another bench.

Al set Trinity down and picked another bench. Soon all four were frantically digging through the piles of junk, occasionally bringing something over to the door to try it out.

“We don't even know if it is what it seems,” Scorpius said impatiently after a few minutes, discarding a slimy banana peel with a flick of disgust. “For all we know the 'key' has been transfigured to look like something else.”

“So, what, we start randomly trying to un-transfigure everything in this room?” Henry demanded. “That would take ages!”

“Wait. It's hidden.” Bethany looked up sharply. “Then maybe...” Raising her wand, she waved it and said, “ _Revelio!_ ”

The others looked around quickly but saw nothing. Then Trinity meowed loudly. Turning, Al saw her sitting on top of a stack of books. He came over, and she hopped down. Al thought he caught a tell-tale glow emitting from the stack. “Here!” He began digging through the books eagerly, until he came across one near the bottom glowing faintly as Bethany's spell wore off. Picking it up, he read the title. “ _Hidden Magical Treasures of Britain_... oh, very funny. Scorpius--?”

But Henry reached him first. He tapped the book with his wand. “ _Reparifarge._ ”

Al had to juggle the book as it shuddered and changed, shrinking down swiftly to something altogether different. It was a simple curved pipe.

“A pipe. Okay, never would have thought of that,” Al muttered, letting Henry take it and hurry over to the door.

“Looks like they've found their key,” came Macmillan's voice booming overhead, startling Al once more. “It looks like Team Four's was a pipe. They seem to have figured out the trick a mite quicker than Team Three. Five points to each House. Well done!”

“This isn't so hard,” Henry boasted as he tugged open the door and led the way into the next room. “If we just keep our heads, we can--” He came to such an abrupt stop that the others ran into him.

The next room had no other doors, and it wasn't empty overhead-- there was a low ceiling. The door behind them shut with a click, and they were plunged into darkness.

“ _Lumos,_ ” they all said quickly, and the light from their wands helped light up the small room.

“The door--” Henry said quickly, but when they turned, the door they'd come through was gone as if it had never existed.

“ _Revelio_ ,” Bethany said again. But this time nothing happened.

“Why is it so cramped in here?” Henry demanded in a strained voice. “And where's the bloody door?”

“Calm down,” Bethany snapped. “Everyone look around for a clue or something.”

They split up, circling the small room and looking carefully for anything out of the ordinary.

“Is it just me,” Scorpius said quietly, “or is this room smaller than when we first came in?”

Al looked back over his shoulder at the far wall, and jumped. Scorpius was right. The room seemed to be shrinking whenever he wasn't paying attention. He could hear Henry breathing in fast little gasps.

“Henry,” Bethany said slowly, “are you claustrophobic by any chance?”

“Look out!” Scorpius yelled suddenly.

Al was about to open his mouth to ask what to watch out for, when he felt it. The ground beneath his feet felt suddenly spongy-- then muddy. His feet sank several inches. He cried out and flailed, trying to keep from falling and pull his feet up at the same time. He sank down further. He heard Trinity hiss, and a moment later she'd bounded up to perch on his shoulder.

They all began yelling as the muddy ground slowly sucked them downwards. Henry's voice was very close to panicked as he instructed, “Stop moving, stop moving! Every time we struggle, we sink faster!”

Al forced himself to hold still, his heart banging like a drum in his ears, holding his wand high for light. He looked over and saw Scorpius nearby, almost up to his knees in the muck, his face even whiter than usual and his lips pressed very tightly together.

“Think of something, Potter,” he said from behind gritted teeth, his eyes as wide as Al knew his own must be. “There's got to be some kind of Charm to fix the ground or something.”

“The only two spells I can think of to do with the ground will just make it worse,” Al panted. He sank another couple inches. “I don't want to turn the ground to stone and trap us worse, and I obviously don't want to spongify it further--”

“Then find a way out of here!” Scorpius said hastily, swaying and almost losing his balance as he, too, sank further down. “Maybe if we find the way out, the floor will go back to normal!”

Henry's panting had gotten louder and more panicky. He and Bethany had been forced closer to the other two because the room was still shrinking.

Al held his wand as high as he could, eyes scouring the blank walls desperately. No notes, no doorways, no signs, no holes, nothing. There was no way out.

“I'm sinking!” Henry shrieked, finally losing his mind with fear in the narrow space. “I'm sinking!” Livingston began hooting wildly and flapping around, making things even more confusing.

Al made a snap-second decision to try something brash. “Cover your heads!” he yelled, pointing at the nearest wall, which he was fairly certain was opposite of where they'd come in. He threw all his desperate will into the spell. “ _Bombarda!_ ”

Scorpius was just as quick. He realized what the spell was halfway through and yelled, “ _PROTEGO!_ ”

The wall exploded, chunks of rock and mortar flying everywhere. Bethany screamed, but Scorpius's shield deflected most of the rubble.

Sunlight trickled in, and as he coughed in the dust, reaching up blindly to check on Trinity, Al realized he was no longer sinking. In fact, when he tentatively put his hand down, the ground felt much more normal. From outside, he could hear cheering.

“Oh, my, that was certainly a flashy way to make an exit!” Macmillan was chuckling. “Rather than stop the shrinking or fix the floor, Potter seems to have gone for the direct approach.”

“We're all right,” Bethany gasped, wrenching her feet loose and going to help Henry. “Stop blubbering, we're all right. Come on, you're heavy, give me some help, will you? Move your feet. Climb out, it's just dirt now.”

Trinity jumped to the ground and shook dust out of her fur, giving Al a reproachful look that he ignored. He sat down hard and hauled his legs out of the dirt, trying to get his breathing and heart rate under control. “That was... too close.”

“That was _insane_ ,” Scorpius spat, and Al knew he wasn't referring to the room. “You could have killed us.”

“Well, I didn't. You saw to that.” He looked over as Scorpius struggled out of the dirt. “That was a pretty big shielding spell. You've been practicing after all.”

Scorpius muttered something under his breath but didn't even look at Al. He dusted himself off and staggered over to the uneven hole in the wall.

“Right, the judges have finished,” Macmillan was saying. “Five points to each house. And an additional five to Gryffindor for such a strong-- if foolhardy – _Bombarda_ spell. And another five to Slytherin for fast thinking and an equally strong _Protego_ charm. Fantastic teamwork!” The Slytherin and Gryffindor students in the stands cheered happily. It was an odd sensation. Usually when the two Houses were in those stands, they were booing each other.

Al went to join Scorpius, and for a moment their eyes met and they shared the ghost of a triumphant grin, almost despite themselves.

“All right,” Bethany grumbled, staggering over and half-supporting Henry. “Come on, move. This idiot needs to breathe fresh air so he can quit being a useless lump.”

She dragged Henry into the next room, with Scorpius and Al trailing behind. Henry turned his head up eagerly towards the sky above and breathed deeply. After a few moments, he pulled away from Bethany, shame-faced. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I've never been good with tight spaces. Got trapped in an old fridge once when messing around in a junkyard. I was only six or so. Was there all day 'til my dad finally found me that night.” He shuddered. “That's how they found out I was a wizard, y'see. Any Muggle child would've suffocated. It was the first time I really used magic unconsciously, and boy were my folks relieved.”

Scorpius shrugged. “Everyone's afraid of something,” he said unexpectedly. Henry shot him a grateful look.

Bethany looked at Henry silently, but didn't seem nearly so annoyed anymore. Instead she put her hands on her hips and glanced around. “Right, so what's the test this time?”

The room was quite empty, save for a white sheet stretched tightly over one wall. As they all turned to stare at it curiously, ink began to bleed through the cloth, creating a shape. They watched, astonished, until moments later a simple picture of a wizard in a pointed hat became clear. He had a comically panicked look stamped on his face and was holding a crooked wand. There was a pause, then the rest of the picture bled into place, this time in red ink. Flames were surrounding him, dangerously close.

They waited, but nothing else happened.

“Is this like... a test?” Henry finally ventured. “Are we supposed to guess the right solution?”

Above the sheet, three green lights suddenly flickered on. They eyed the lights warily, but they did nothing but buzz and glow. Everyone exchanged wary looks.

Bethany reached up to stroke Livingston nervously. “Seems too simple, doesn't it? And what're the lights for?”

“Guesses,” Scorpius said abruptly. “Maybe we only get three guesses.”

“Well I'm not going to guess wrong just to find out,” Henry said. “Anyway, the answer is obvious, isn't it? He needs to put out the fire. He needs the _Aqua Eructo_ spell.”

The picture changed abruptly. A blue line arced out from the crooked wand onto the fire, which faded away. The wizard's expression changed so he was smiling triumphantly.

“Easy,” Henry boasted as all the ink vanished. But another picture was already taking its place. Now the wizard was kneeling on the ground, one hand clasped to his throat, his eyes wide and his mouth open. Henry looked unnerved. “Is he... choking?”

“ _Anapneo_ ,” Bethany said promptly. The wizard in the picture suddenly sat up, looking relieved. When the others looked at her in surprise, Bethany shrugged. “My mother used it on my little sister a couple years ago when she choked on a candy drop. Gave me a fright, so it stuck in my mind.”

Now the wizard was standing before a table with a cauldron on it, stirring it with a look of concentration. A thought bubble above his head showed another wizard coughing, his bulbous nose red, a hanky in his hand. To the right, small ideograms of what looked like ingredients began appearing until there were twenty in all. Al and Scorpius looked at each other glumly.

“We warned you, we're not great at Potions,” Al said. “I don't even know what he's trying to make.”

“A Pepperup Potion, obviously,” Henry said, pointing to the sickly wizard in the thought bubble. “I remember learning that last year. Though...” he glanced towards Bethany, “I don't trust my memory enough to remember which ingredients are the correct ones.”

Bethany's eyes skipped back and forth over the potions, her lips moving slightly as she mumbled to herself. She reached out and slowly began tapping ingredients; each one she touched glowed yellow. On the third ingredient, one of the green lights buzzed loudly and went out. She froze, and the others sucked in a quick breath of alarm.

“Blast.” Bethany bit her lip. “I bet I have to touch them in the order you'd put them into the cauldron. “Okay, just be quiet and let me think.” She stared at the ingredients, muttering again. After another minute, she gave a small nod, took a deep breath, and continued more carefully. Al realized he was squeezing Trinity too tightly and put her down. She went and seated herself at Bethany's feet, head craned back as she watched with interest.

“Ouch!” Bethany yelped a few moments later. “Your cat just put its claws in my calf! Get her away from me, Potter.”

“No, she's trying to stop you,” Al said hastily. Bethany lowered her wand and frowned at him. “I know it sounds crazy,” he stammered, a little embarrassed. “But she was like this with me in Potions once, and stopped me from making a pretty bad mistake.”

“She's a wizard's cat,” Scorpius put in. “I'd trust her instincts.”

Bethany's frown deepened. She looked down at Trinity, then back to the sheet. She hesitated, then made a loud “tsk” noise. “Right. Forgot, the mandrake root goes next, not the cloves.” She continued, and this time Trinity did not interrupt. Finally she tapped a twelfth, final ingredient, and the unused ones disappeared. The wizard on the sheet beamed, raising his spoon in triumph. The picture faded.

“Great memory, Bethany,” Henry said with admiration.

“Useful cat you've got here, Potter,” Bethany admitted, reaching down to scratch Trinity between the ears.

The pictures continued to appear and disappear with odd predicaments for the comical cartoon wizard. “It's like taking the exams all over again,” Henry grumbled at one point.

Al was the one to guess the Cheering Charm, and Scorpius correctly found a flaw in a formula for Transfiguration, but in the end it was Bethany that answered most of the questions.

Finally the pictures stopped, and the sheet rolled itself up like a curtain, revealing the door behind it. Two green lights still remained glowing.

“Good show!” Macmillan cried, and the audience applauded. “I expect these four did quite well on their exams. Only one wrong answer! And... yes, there's the judges' decision now. Five points to each House, and an extra five to Miss Jones for answering the majority of the questions.”

“Expected nothing less from a Ravenclaw,” Henry said with a grin, clapping her on the shoulder. Bethany looked quite pleased.

Scorpius had a strange frown on his face. He was looking around at the walls, then up at the empty air. “Doesn't it seem odd,” he said slowly, “that they put a wall around the entire field when we've only used this small portion of it? I mean, none of the rooms have been very large. We've been through half the field at most.”

Al looked at him curiously, but didn't get a chance to respond. “And now it's time for the final challenge,” Macmillan was saying. “With only seven minutes to go! Good luck, Team Four!”

“Seven?!” Bethany yelped. They all looked at each other in alarm.

“Come on!” Henry ran to the door and opened it.

They spilled out of the room, staggered a few feet, and stopped. Al looked around in uncertain surprise. There was no more wall. They were out in the empty Quidditch field, and Scorpius had been right-- there was over half the field left.

“Um...” Bethany raised her wand slowly, looking around with a wary expression. “What's going on? Why do we need so much room all the sudden?”

“I have a real bad feeling about this,” Henry muttered, drawing his own wand.

Al looked towards the stands, where all the students were leaning forward with breathless anticipation. He put Trinity down again and drew his wand, edging closer to Scorpius. “See anything?” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. The audience's sudden silence was doing nothing for his nerves.

“No... Wait. There.” Scorpius pointed to the far side of the field. Someone had stretched out a ribbon like at the end of a race. “I suppose we have to cross that to win.”

“Well we haven't got long, so let's go,” Henry said tensely, and began jogging across the field.

“And now for the final event,” Macmillan said in a theatrically spooky voice. “ _Revelio!_ ”

Something in the air before them shimmered, then abruptly revealed their final test.

Bethany screamed.

Al, who would have done the same if his throat hadn't suddenly seized up in fear, stared up and and up and up...

It was a monster. A giant grey monster made of stone, taller than an oak tree. It had the vague likeness of a man, as if some unskilled artist had chipped him out of a small mountain. This, he realized suddenly, was what he'd glimpsed moving about in the Forbidden Forest.

“Behold the Grey Guardian,” Macmillan shouted above the crowd's sudden cheers and shouts. “A stone golem. Get past it, if you can!”

“RUN!” Henry bellowed, dodging to the right just in time. The golem was carrying a huge stone club, and had just swung it at him. It struck the ground with a crash that almost knocked Al off his feet. He clung to Scorpius instinctively, but Scorpius was too busy clinging right back to get mad about it.

“Are they crazy?!” he shouted right in Al's ear.

Trinity howled and sprinted across the field, nimbly dodging around one gigantic foot.

“Run, you idiots!” Bethany shrieked, pushing both boys hard in the back.

Al ran.

What had seemed so simple mere minutes ago looked impossible now. The Grey Guardian blocked their advance across the field; it was surprisingly quick for something so large, and was constantly shifting its feet to block their way or slamming its club into the ground to scatter them.

Bethany sent her owl into the air; Livingston soared upwards and began flapping around the golem's face, trying to distract it. It helped a bit, but Livingston had to retreat several times whenever one giant hand reached up to swat at him.

“ _Impedimenta!_ ” Henry cried.

“No-!” Scorpius dived, barely dodging the spell as it rebounded. “Spells won't work against a golem!” he roared. “Watch what you're doing!”

Al, rolling across the grass to avoid another blow from the club, suddenly realized that Bethany had been screaming his name, trying to get his attention. Scrambling to his feet, he saw her waving her arms and pointing behind him.

“Quidditch field, Potter! The racks! The _racks_!”

Al spun. About ten yards away was one of the locker rooms, and outside it was a rack of practice brooms. His heart leapt. They would have a much easier time avoiding the golem in the air.

He dashed for the racks.

“ _Accio_ Cleansweep!” he heard Bethany shout, and ducked as one of the brooms shot off the rack and went zooming over to her.

Al didn't know the spell, so he kept running, terrified that at any moment the club would come hurtling down and snuff him out. He threw a quick look over his shoulder. Livingston had the golem momentarily distracted, and Bethany was mounting her broom, shouting hoarsely to get Henry's attention.

Three yards-- two---

He skidded to a halt at the racks and grabbed a broom. He'd mounted it before he realized Scorpius hadn't followed. He was running back and forth, avoiding one giant foot as it shifted to block him. Wishing for one fervent instant that he was as good a flyer as his brother, Al leaned over the handle and shot across the field, low to the ground, his toes dragging occasionally in the dirt as he fought the old training broom. It was an old model, and kept trying to veer to the left.

Scorpius turned just in time to realized what Al intended to do. His eyes widened in horror and he held up his hands in a  _Don't_ gesture--

But Al braked right in front of him and bellowed, “GET ON!”

Scorpius stumbled back, and Al had no choice but to grab his arm and yank him forward. The club thudded to the ground two feet away, making Scorpius's mind up for him. Cursing, white-faced, he climbed on behind Al and had just enough time to grab him around the waist in a deathgrip before Al jerked the broom around and dodged past the club and then  _up--_

The crowd was screaming itself hoarse, most of the students up on their feet in the stands.

He flew up and around, dodging the enormous stone hand that swatted at him like an annoying fly. Bethany soared over, with Livingston flapping alongside her. She was flying much more easily than Al. She'd been on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, Al remembered again. He made a mental note to thank her profusely for her quick thinking.

Henry appeared a moment later, clutching his broom and looking wild-eyed. “We can't stay up here forever!” he shouted. “We have to get to the ribbon on the ground!”

“Circle it,” Bethany suggested, jerking to the right quickly to avoid another swat. “Circle its head. Try to make it follow us, make it dizzy or something. Livingston, flap near the face, try to keep it from seeing us too clearly.” The owl hooted and obeyed.

“Scorpius,” Al gasped, “you're crushing my ribs!”

Scorpius, however, refused to loosen his grip, and Al was startled to realize he could feel the boy shuddering against his back. But he didn't have any more time to wonder about it, because the golem let out a grumbling roar, and the the three fliers began circling and swooping, trying to disorient it.

It was hard to control the old broom, especially with Scorpius nearly squeezing the air out of his lungs, but fear gave Al the adrenaline boost he needed to keep his seat and pull off a few moves that might have impressed even James. Henry was a fair flyer, though he knew his limitations and kept a good distance from the golem. But Bethany, despite the ragged broom she flew, was putting them both to shame. She darted this way and that, upside down and back and forth, in dizzying circles. She easily avoided the golem's clumsy swipes, forcing it to turn in place several times as it tried to keep her in sight-- something Livingston was doing his best to make difficult.

“Now, now!” Henry shouted as the golem staggered. As one, they all turned and shot downwards, heading for the ribbon.

“We're gonna make it!” Al shouted over the wind, wishing Scorpius would loosen his grip just a little. He could feel the boy's face pressing hard between his shoulder blades as if he were trying to hide.

But he had misjudged both the broom's slow response time and his angle of approach. As Al tried to pull up, to fly straight across the last few yards of the field to the ribbon, the end of the broom instead remained pointed downwards. It dug into the grassy turf and threw both boys off like a slingshot. He got a brief, confused glimpse of Bethany streaking past to the ribbon, a jumble of grass and sky as he rolled painfully, and then he bounced and stopped, and Scorpius landed heavily on top of him, leaving them both breathless for a moment.

Dazed, Al managed to lift his head slightly. The golem had regained its footing and was turning on them, with Henry racing ahead of it, right towards them.

“Get up, get up, move!” he was screaming.

But Al was dizzy and aching, and Scorpius was letting out a pained moan, unable to move. Al's throat closed up in alarm. They had to all make it through the finish line to avoid losing points, but he couldn't see being able to do so in time. And Henry was frightened enough that it seemed understandable to just keep going...

But Henry yanked out his wand and pointed it right at Al as he came bearing down on them. Al's heart lurched with fear for an instant, then--

“ _FLIPENDO_!”

The spell struck them both, knocking them head over heels-- and right through the ribbon, where they crashed into Bethany, who had stopped just short of it to look back at them. A moment later Henry came soaring after them.

The golem stopped in its tracks, lowering its club.

The audience's cheering was deafening, nearly drowning out Macmillan's excited shouts despite the  _Sonorus_ charm. “TEAM FOUR FINISHES THE MARATHON WITH SECONDS LEFT TO GO! OH, BRAVO, BRAVO! WHAT SKILL! WHAT DARING!”

The four of them lay in a painful heap, panting for breath and looking at each other with dawning realization.

“We won,” Henry croaked. Then, pumping his fist in the air, “WE WON!”

They all dissolved into helpless, relieved laughter, even Scorpius. After they'd gotten themselves under control, they carefully untangled themselves from each other and their brooms and got to their feet. Helping hands reached forward to pull them upright-- the Professors had come forward to deliver the final points, and were smiling at them in congratulations. As Neville quickly checked them over, making sure no one had suffered any broken bones, Macmillan came running up, huffing and puffing.

“Excellent, excellent,” he panted, face wreathed with a huge grin. “Ahem.” He placed his wand tip to his throat so that everyone could hear his voice booming out again. “And now for the final score for Team Four. Professors?”

Neville gave Al a short, encouraging squeeze on the shoulder and moved off to the side to consult with the other judges in quiet whispers. Finally Professor Macmillan moved away and cleared his throat to silence the excitedly babbling crowd. “Five points to each House for finishing within the time limit-- no penalties. And another five to Ravenclaw for Miss Jones's quick thinking and superb flying. And five to Hufflepuff, for making sure no team member was left behind.”

Bethany and Henry grinned wildly at each other as the crowd roared their approval.

“And now is the last chance for any points before the Marathon is officially at an end,” Macmillan said, and his eyes flicked ever so briefly towards Al.

The Last Chance. Al took in a quick breath of surprise. He'd completely forgotten in the stress of the Marathon. He still had a chance to get another forty points for his House. He put his hand in his pocket, touching the card. He had no idea how the other teams had done, but if Gryffindor hadn't made as many points as the others, this could be their one hope of claiming the House Cup, or at least not finishing dead last.

Instinctively, he glanced towards his teammates. Henry's smile had faded. He'd made the least amount of points the team. Not only that, he'd angered the others in the first test and panicked completely in the third. He'd looked forward to earning glory for his House, and instead he had only earned five extra points. Al's eyes jumped to Bethany, who'd saved their necks with her flying plan, and then to Scorpius, who was still looking a little unsteady on his feet. Scorpius, who might not have even agreed to be a potential competitor if Al hadn't badgered him about it all year.

He took out the card and stared at it for a long moment. His teammates looked at it, confused. Then, wincing slightly, Al tore the card in half.

The audience made a noise of surprise.

Al glanced up quickly and saw that several of the Professors were smiling at him in approval.

“Another ten points to each House!” Macmillan announced. “Now, if the rest of the teams could please join us, and we'll see the results!” He turned and waved his wand towards the scoreboard usually used during Quidditch games.

“What was that?” Scorpius asked in a low voice, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Tell you later,” Al muttered back, eyes flicking from face to face as the other three teams emerged from one of the locker rooms, some of them looking a little muddy or banged up. He caught Rose's eye and grinned at her, and she gave him two big thumbs up.

Vincent came up and gave him a rough hug. “We did it,” he crowed. “What was that business just now though, with the card? Teresa had one like it, but she handed it to Macmillan straight away and got Slytherin forty points, it was so unfair...”

“Shush,” Henry said shortly, gazing eagerly up at the scoreboard. “Look--”

Everyone's heads tilted back as the names of the four Houses appeared on the scoreboard, followed shortly by their scores.

 

TEAM 1:

Gryffindor: 30

Hufflepuff: 25

Slytherin: 30

Ravenclaw: 70

_Total_ : 155

 

TEAM 2:

Gryffindor: 35

Hufflepuff: 30

Slytherin: 30

Ravenclaw: 35

_Total_ : 130

 

TEAM 3:

Gryffindor: 35

Hufflepuff: 30

Slytherin: 80

Ravenclaw: 30

_Total_ : 175

 

TEAM 4:

Gryffindor: 40

Hufflepuff: 40

Slytherin: 45

Ravenclaw: 45

_Total_ : 170

 

“We got second place!” Scorpius exclaimed, surprised. Bethany pouted, looking less enthused.

Al, looking at Team One's scores, remembered wondering if the Ravenclaw on that team had had a Last Chance card. She must have used it, as Teresa had. But that would mean... He glanced at Rose. “Did someone on your team tear up a card like I did?”

She nodded, still looking at the numbers. “Janet, from Hufflepuff. Oh no. Look, if you add them up--”

But a moment later the final numbers lit up at the bottom of the scoreboard:

 

TOTALS:

Gryffindor: 140

Hufflepuff: 125

Slytherin: 185

Ravenclaw: 180

 

Vincent stared up at the board, his mouth slack. Rose, who was obviously doing quick mental math, let out a groan. “Oh,  _no_ . You realize that this just pushed Slytherin ahead?” When Al turned to give her a blank look, she made a helpless gesture. “With all the rest of the points they've got this year... they just won the House Cup.”

 

 


	18. Dead Last

The members of Team Three were awarded a small trophy apiece, and then the students were shepherded back to the school for lunch. Everyone was talking excitedly about the things that had been done during the marathon, and Slytherin House was practically delirious with joy.

James finally caught up to Al right inside the school and nearly bowled him over with a fierce hug. “Second place! You did good, little bro! Didn't lose your head like some I could mention.” A couple Hufflepuffs nearby send James hard looks, perhaps wondering if he was referring to Henry.

“Let's eat outside,” Al said quickly. “I want to hear how Vincent and Rose did.”

They hastily constructed a picnic lunch and hauled it outside with the others. A lot of other students had the same idea. There was a festive air, and everyone was still hyped up and talking loudly. Several members of the teams, especially Team Three, were the center of attention.

“Let's go sit by the Whomping Willow,” Fred suggested, steering them away from the crowded lake shore. “Most people won't go anywhere near it, but I know how far out you have to sit to be safe from it. No one will bother us there.”

Felicia had thought to grab a blanket, and she spread it out on the ground so they could all settle down to eat and swap stories.

“All right, first off, what was that card you ripped up?” Vincent asked right away. “Teresa had one and handed it over and it looked like that's where she got those last-second points. And Rose said the Hufflepuff on her team ripped it up, too.”

Al hesitated. Before, the thought of the Last Chance card had been a happy one. He'd been sure he would gain his House's gratitude by turning it in. But now by tearing it up, he'd let Slytherin win the House Cup.

Slowly, he explained his secret meeting with Shacklebolt the night before. James and Fred began to look horrified as the truth set in.

“You mean-- you mean you could've landed Gryffindor with _forty points_?” Fred sputtered. “But you decided to give it away like a _chump_?”

“Gryffindor wouldn't have won the Cup even if he _had_ turned it in,” Rose snapped. “We still would have been five points shy from tying with Slytherin.”

“I think it was a kind thing to do,” Felicia said quietly, though she was looking at Fred and James a little fearfully. Even Roxie was grinding her teeth. “I mean... this whole thing was about teamwork, wasn't it? And you all helped each other...”

“Foggings was too busy being a prat to be much help until the last second,” Andrew pointed out sulkily. “Forty points... man.” He saw Al's expression and quickly waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Doesn't matter. Like Rose said, it wouldn't have done us any good.”

“It would have at _least_ put us in second place for the Cup,” James said from behind clenched teeth. “Instead of _dead last_.”

“Ease off, James,” Vincent said in an undertone.

“Hufflepuff was last, though,” Andrew said, sounding uncertain.

Felicia shook her head. “They had us beat already, before the games, because Zabini docked ten points from someone in class yesterday. So Hufflepuff still ended up with a couple more House points than we have.”

Fred snatched up his lunch and rose to his feet. “I saw everything from the stands, I don't need to hear it all over again.” And he marched off. Roxie hesitated, then got up and followed.

James was staring down at his sandwich. “You should've handed over the card, Al.”

Al's face was hot with humiliation. “It didn't seem fair,” he said, hating that his voice was a little unsteady. If his own family was reacting this way, how on earth would the rest of Gryffindor treat him when they found out?

James blew out a shaky sigh. “You're too much like Dad sometimes,” he said, his tone impossible to decipher. “You think you're being noble when you're really just being dumb.” Then he, too, collected his lunch and went after Fred.

Al's mouth dropped open. He wanted to run after James and knock him to the ground, but Vincent put a hand on his shoulder as if reading his mind.

“Ignore them,” he said firmly. “Yes, it's disappointing, but so what? It was a pretty good thing you did for your team, Al. That's what this competition was all about. James will get over it.”

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. Then Vincent cleared his throat and gave Rose a significant look. “So, er, how did your team do? I mean, you guys got the least amount of points. What happened?”

Rose shuddered. “It was that room with the ground that sucked you down. Everyone was panicking, and then Bartholomew fell over and his _face_ started sinking... It was horrible. For a few seconds we all thought he was going to suffocate. I mean, looking back, I'm sure the Professors would have stepped in a moment later, but Janet shot red sparks up. The ceiling must've been fake or something, because the sparks went right through it, and a moment later the dirt turned normal and Bartholomew was able to pull his head free. So we each lost five points for not completing that room.”

Al took a slow bite of his sandwich. Well, at least his team had managed to complete all the tasks. No doubt Bartholomew was getting grief from his House, and maybe Janet was, too. Plus she'd torn up her card. But Hufflepuffs were not generally as competitive as Gryffindors, so perhaps they'd been more understanding. Had she given up her forty points out of guilt, to make up for losing them five in the mud room?

“I liked your way of getting out of it, Al,” Andrew laughed. “I don't know if anyone was expecting you to blast a _hole_ through the wall. I thought Professor Switch was going to faint.” The others laughed loudly, and Al couldn't help but grin a little.

“I couldn't think of anything else,” he admitted. “How did the other teams get past it?”

Felicia spoke up eagerly, relieved to feel the tension ebbing. “Team One was pretty smart. Henrietta, the Ravenclaw, transfigured her owl into a big mole, and it helped dig her out. While she was doing that, Greg managed to use a spell that stopped the walls from shrinking. Gave 'em enough time for the mole to dig them out of the mud without anyone panicking. After that, a door appeared.”

“Tell 'em how you did it,” Andrew said eagerly, grinning hugely at Vincent.

Vincent cringed. “I used _Ascendio._ And that ceiling, by the way, is _not_ fake for people. I cracked my head pretty hard on it. Saw stars and everything.”

Andrew fell against Al laughing.

“Teresa was a lot more clever,” Vincent continued with a wry smile. “She spongified a part of the wall so I could tear it open, and while I was doing that she used a fire spell that turned the mud just hard enough to keep anyone from sinking further. It wasn't hard to break everyone out of it after that.”

“Your way was a lot more dramatic, Al,” Felicia tittered. “But it certainly worked.”

“What about the pixies?” Al asked. “When Henry busted that barrel, I was sure we'd done it wrong.”

Vincent waved away his concerns. “Nah, the barrel pops open on its own after a minute. That was a pretty neat trick of Malfoy's with the net. My team wasted way too much time trying to catch them all by hand before Teresa finally lost patience and started stunning them.”

“Team One had the brilliant idea to spray them down with water,” Felicia said. “It made their wings wet so they couldn't fly. I dunno who had the idea-- two of 'em started doing it at the same time.”

“Peter transfigured a rock into some kind of food that pixies really love,” Rose said. “I guess he was actually paying attention to that particular lesson in DADA. Anyway, he tossed it in the barrel and all the pixies just dived right back in.”

Andrew nodded. “Yeah, her team finished fastest. Which was good, since that mud room gave 'em so much trouble."

“What about the golem?” Al asked quickly. “How'd you get past that?”

“Oh, man...” Vincent made a face. “We were _not_ expecting that.”

“I thought I was going to pass out when I saw it,” Rose admitted, shivering.

“Those brooms were brilliant!” Andrew gushed. “I guess it _would_ occur to a Quidditch player to try something that crazy.”

“My team just scattered,” Rose admitted. “Figured he couldn't go after all of us at once. It might've worked, but he started really going after Peter, so we had to turn back. Couldn't risk losing points by leaving him behind, not after the mud room.”

“Plus, yanno, couldn't let him get squashed,” Andrew said sarcastically.

Rose sniffed. “Oh, come on, you don't really think the golem would've killed anyone, do you? He came close to us plenty of times, but he never hit anyone, even when he probably had the chance. The Professors wouldn't give us a challenge that would literally get us killed.”

Andrew looked a little sheepish. “Oh, yeah. I guess so.”

“Anyway...” Rose shrugged. “We needed to distract the golem, so I enchanted the grass to wrap around one of its feet and hold it still. Then I thought of the mud room and turned a big area of the field beneath it to a quagmire, and it was so heavy it started sinking like, well... a stone.” She giggled. “We ran for the ribbon, and some of the judges had to hurry and save the golem.”

“The Professors were super impressed,” Felicia said, making her blush. “They said it was powerful magic for a second-year, turning that much of the ground to mush so quickly.”

“Wow.” Al was equally impressed. “I didn't know you had it in you, Rose.”

“Neither did I,” she admitted, focusing intently on her sandwich.

“Dad always used to go on about how powerful and clever your mom is, so I guess we shouldn't be surprised.”

“Oh... stop.” She was bright red now. “Go on, Vincent,” she said hastily. “Tell Al how your team got past the golem.”

“I tried the same thing Henry did,” Vincent sighed. “I tried a spell on it, and it bounced back and hit poor Patricia right in the face. Sent her tumbling for like ten feet, and made her face all red and puffy to boot.”

Andrew coughed to hide a laugh.

“Teresa, though... She froze up for a few seconds, just like the rest of us, then conjured up some ropes and had us run around and around, tangling them up in its legs. It didn't topple, but it did have to stop and try to get itself loose before it lost its balance, and we were able to get around it, dragging Patricia with us.” Vincent grinned at Al. “Your team's broom plan was definitely the most fun, I think. Crazy, but still cool to watch.”

“Oh, I forgot about the room with the weird key,” Al said. None had really bothered to bring up the trial that had been more like pop quiz, as the only thing to brag about for that one was who had paid attention in class.

“Mostly everyone did about the same thing,” Felicia said. “Team One figured it out really quick and used the revealing spell like you guys did.”

“So did we, eventually,” Vincent said. “But it still took awhile because the key was buried under so much stuff.”

“We tried something a little different,” Rose said with a faint smile. “Janet had her rat with her, so she set it down on each table and it sniffed around until it found the right thing for us to transfigure.”

They spent the afternoon laughing about certain moments during the Marathon that had been clever, silly, or downright awesome, and by the time they went back inside, Al felt much better.

 

~*~

 

His good mood was short-lived, however. Gryffindor reacted as predicted once the word got out about the Last Chance cards.

Not all of them seemed to have a problem with Al's choice. Some congratulated him for being selfless or for being a good sport. Certainly Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students greeted him with smiles when they passed him in the hallway. Even Slytherin mostly ignored him, which was better than the alternative. This was probably just as much to do with him working well with Scorpius as it was his decision to give their House ten extra points.

But a lot of Gryffindors shared James's opinion; better to have snagged those forty points and gotten a close second than to be at the bottom of the stack with House points. And others, who hadn't bothered to do the math, were sure they would have won the House Cup if they'd just had those extra points.

“Like I guess I can _almost_ understand sharing your points with Ravenclaw,” a third-year said, cornering him that evening on the way up to the dormitories. “That was a pretty brilliant idea of hers, with the brooms. But your Hufflepuff teammate was so lame. And sharing with _Slytherin_?”

“That's not how it worked,” Al said angrily, for what felt like the tenth time in the last two days. “It was keep it all or divide it four ways, period. Now move, I want to go to bed.”

He could tell James, Fred, and Roxie were still mad at him as well. The latter two tended to just give him the cold shoulder, and James kept shaking his head when they made eye contact during meals or in the Common Room. But apparently James's disappointment was not so overpowering that he could tolerate other people expressing their own.

Al was leaving the hall after breakfast on the last day of the term when one of the older Gryffindors bumped deliberately into him, sneering over his shoulder, “Way to go, Slytherin-lover. Lost our House the Cup, huh? Some Potter you are.”

James was there in a flash. He shoved the boy hard, nearly knocking him off his feet. “Why don't you keep your dumb mouth shut, Bradshaw?” he snarled. “Unless you want _this_ Potter to jinx you so hard your face looks like the back-end of a baboon for the rest of the summer.”

After that, the other Gryffindors mostly just gave Al angry frowns, but left him alone. James still wouldn't speak to Al, but it was a small relief to know that he would eventually get over it if he was willing to push people around for giving Al a hard time about it.

 

“It's the last day,” Felicia tried to comfort him. “By next year they won't care anymore, they'll be too focused on winning points again.”

They were returning a few last books to the library. Al nodded in response to Felicia's words, but his eyes had drifted and he'd spotted a familiar thin figure slipping down one of the aisles. “Thanks. Look, I'll catch up to you later, okay? There's someone I have to talk to.”

He hurried into the aisle, where Scorpius was putting away a slim volume on Conjuring. He glanced up, saw Al, and turned away quickly to escape out of the other end of the aisle.

“Wait a second!” Al hurried to him and grabbed his elbow to stop him. “Why didn't you _tell_ me?”

Scorpius yanked his arm free furiously. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Come off it, I saw your face when I came at you on that broom. And you almost cracked two of my ribs, you were holding on so tight. Not to mention how weirdly understanding you were when you found out Henry is claustrophobic.” Al glanced around to make sure there was no one nearby, lowering his voice. “That's why you never go to the Quidditch matches, isn't it? You're afraid of flying.”

“It's _heights_ I have a problem with, Potter,” Scorpius said stiffly. “Though given the way you wobble about on a broom, I doubt I'll even want to float on one of those ever again--”

Belatedly Al realized where the cold anger in Scorpius's demeanor was coming from. “I haven't _told_ anyone,” he said quickly. “And I hadn't planned on it.” Some of the tension seeped out of Malfoy's shoulders. “I just wish you'd told me before the Marathon. We were supposed to tell each other about our weaknesses, remember? I never would've pulled you on that broom if I'd known. We could've... I dunno, distracted the Guardian while you ran for the ribbon on foot or something.”

“Don't be daft,” Scorpius snapped. He pushed Al aside roughly and strode off. “Just keep it to yourself, Potter.”

Al let him go, chewing on his lip. Scorpius must hate that Al knew his weakness. He'd tried very hard to conceal it from everyone. Did his father know? How disappointed had he been when he realized his son wouldn't follow in his footsteps and join the Slytherin Quidditch team?

Still, it was almost... gratifying, realizing Scorpius had a weakness. He always seemed so confident. He also couldn't help but wonder if Scorpius might be just a little bit nicer to him from now on. After all, they'd helped each other in the Marathon. And if nothing else, perhaps he'd be nice just to keep Al from telling anyone his secret.

An older Gryffindor came down the aisle just then, carrying a stack of books to put away, and gave Al the stink eye. Turning away, Al left hastily without a word. _Just have to get through today_ , he thought wearily. Surely Felicia was right and no one would care by next year.

 

~*~

 

A couple of hours before dinner, all the second-years were called down to the dining hall. The Heads of Houses gathered their students at their tables and began handing out lists of classes.

As they all jostled for seats with their friends-- Al noted glumly that no one wanted to sit near him besides Andrew and Felicia –Felicia began fretting that they were in trouble. Glad to have the distraction from all the hostile looks, Al explained. “No, remember what James said when we were studying for exams? We take extra courses next year, and this is our chance to sign up for the electives we're interested in.”

Neville began making the rounds at the table, and soon reached them, quill and parchment in hand. "Hey, you three," he greeted cheerily. He, at least, didn't seem at all bothered by Al's decision to tear up the Last Chance, even if it had sunk his House to the bottom of the pile. "Here are your lists. Have you given any thought to what you'll be taking for electives next year? You can pick two."

Al's mind went blank. He'd pondered his choices only briefly, but had been so overwhelmed with exams and the Marathon that he had never reached a decision. He wanted to have at least one elective with his friends, but wasn't sure which ones they were interested in.

"Muggle Studies," Andrew said immediately. "That one sounds easy."

It did sound interesting, and Al thought he remembered his father recommending it. Having grown up with Muggles, Harry knew a lot more about their ways and lifestyle than his children or wife did. "Me, too."

"I don't need that, obviously," Felicia laughed. "I can help you with your homework, though, I suppose."

"All right." Neville made a note. "And your second one?"

That one, at least, was easy for Al. "Care of Magical Creatures."

Neville sent him a quick, knowing smile. Hagrid had been reinstated as the Professor for that particular class not too many years ago, after solemnly promising not to bring anything too dangerous to class. Al remembered well the day Hagrid had burst into the Potter household with the news. Harry and Ginny, delighted, had thrown him an impromptu party, and he'd cried happily for most of it. "Right. And you, Mr. Heathcliffe?"

"No way, I heard Hagrid's a little crazy." Ignoring Al's offended look, he said firmly, "Divination. Mum made it sound like I could wing it in that class. It's not like it's very exact magic, right? Dad doesn't think it even counts. He says it's bogus."

"Hm." Neville was smiling again, but he didn't say anything as he wrote it down. "And what about you, Miss Baker?"

Felicia chewed on a hangnail, eyes skimming the list. "I don't know... Arithmancy sounds really complicated, and I'm not sure I buy into Divination, either. I guess Study of Ancient Runes? I heard Molly talking about it, it sounds interesting. And I'll do Magical Creatures, too. I really want to see more magical beasts and stuff."

Al beamed, pleased that he'd get one elective with each of them.

"All right, you're set. Here are your new schedules." Neville handed them each a list. "Remember, Hagrid's class is held outside by his hut. Al can show you the way if you haven't been, Miss Baker. Be good, you three. And if I don't see you later, have a good summer." He moved on to the next group.

Felicia turned to Al excitedly. "Al, please tell me there are going to be unicorns in Hagrid's class!"

"Her motives become clear," Andrew drawled.

 

~*~

 

That evening was a solemn affair at the Gryffindor table during the end-of-year feast. The hall was decorated with green banners, and everywhere you looked there were images of snakes. The Slytherins were very rowdy at their table, laughing and hooting. Teresa seemed to be the hero of the hour, having pulled off so many clever spells in the Marathon and snatched so many points with the Last Chance.

At the end of the meal Shacklebolt stood and waited for silence. “It has been another eventful year here at Hogwarts. To our seventh-year students, we wish you a fond farewell. We are proud of you, and are sure you will go far.” There was a round of polite applause. Al risked a quick glance down the table at Lucas, who had put his head down on the table. “The Hogwarts Marathon was a great success, and it was pleasing to see so many of you volunteer and work together,” the Headmaster continued. “We shall try to think up something extra special for next year's.” There was a surge in excited murmuring around the hall. He held up a hand until it died down. “Congratulations are in order.” He lifted his goblet. “To Team Three, snatching victory in the Hogwarts Marathon. And to Slytherin, winner of both the Quidditch and House Cups!”

The Slytherins cheered wildly. Even some of the Hufflepuffs clapped. But the Gryffindors all stared at their plates mournfully.

Shacklebolt took a sip and placed his goblet back down. “Make sure you get plenty of rest tonight, my students. It will be a long trip home tomorrow.” He paused, looking down at his hands where they rested on the table. A shadow seemed to cross his face, as if he was dealing with some internal struggle. But eventually all he said was, “Be safe.” Then he sat down and turned to converse with Professor Sinistra.

Vincent was frowning up at the head table. “What was that about? Didn't he seem like he was about to say something else?”

Al shrugged, already getting to his feet. He wanted to get to the dormitories ahead of the other Gryffindors and pack his things so he could be in bed before anyone else. He was not up to handling anymore sideways looks or angry mutters on his final night. “Well, I'm going to feed Trinity and finish packing. See you in the morning.”

He hurried from the hall, back itching with the stares of half the Gryffindor table. He hadn't even made it to the staircase when he heard someone hurrying after him. A moment later a hand landed on his shoulder, giving him pause.

“Hey.” It was Vincent, looking concerned. “Look, don't let these guys get to you, all right? Just because _they_ would've done something selfish out there doesn't mean you should feel bad for doing something decent. By the start of next year, they won't even care anymore.”

“That's what Felicia says,” Al mumbled, looking away. “I hope you're right. That doesn't make it much easier _now_.”

“I know.” Vincent hesitated, then tried on a grin. “Look, why don't you meet me in Diagon Alley a week before the school term? I'll help you shop for whatever supplies you'll need for your new electives, and we can get caught up on our summers. I'd say we could hang before then, but...” He trailed off.

But he would probably be hanging with James. And even if James hadn't been mad about the Last Chance, there was no way he'd want his little brother tagging along. Still, it was a nice gesture, so Al forced a smile. “All right. Hey, you'll get to meet my sister. She's starting here next year.”

“Great! All right, see you later, Al.” Flashing one of his infectious grins, Vincent jogged back to the hall. Al watched him go a moment, relieved that despite everything-- trying to trick Fred into revealing the Room of Requirement, losing at Quidditch despite their private practice sessions, and ruining their chances for the House Cup –Vincent still seemed quite willing to be his friend.

Feeling a little better, Al turned and began climbing the stairs. _Next year,_ he told himself firmly, _I am not joining Quidditch. Let James make a fool of himself on a broom if he wants to._

Al would be too busy with his new classes, his friends... perhaps even Scorpius would be less annoying next year. And it would be fun to introduce Lily to the wonders of Hogwarts and see her finally get to try out her own magic.

He didn't realize he was smiling until he was halfway up the stairs.

 

 

**~END~**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welp, that's it for year 2! Thanks for reading :) And to those who still stuck around after my year hiatus omg And thanks for any comments, they are my bread and butter and help me push past writer's block & crippling self doubt when I know people are enjoying the story. Assuming I get off my butt and get the 3rd one started soon, it'll also be under The Mongoose series, which you should be able to get to through a link at the bottom of chapters in either year 1 or year 2. Mostly I'm stuck on wtf to call year 3 bc I hate thinking of titles. It will probably be pretty short, like year 1. I'm just impatient to get to year 4, tbh lol Al starts getting confused about feelings in yr 3, but stuff gets interesting in yr 4 :D kekeke


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